


The Last Heir

by smokingtulip



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandonment, Abuse, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Arranged Marriage, Azkaban, Betrayal, Bisexual Sirius Black, Black Family Drama (Harry Potter), Black Family Tapestry, Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Brother-Sister Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Child Abuse, Cousins, Death Eaters, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, First War with Voldemort, Gen, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, London, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Morally Ambiguous Character, Muggles, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Paranoia, Past Abuse, Protective Siblings, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Reader-Insert, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Siblings, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Sirius Black Deserves Better, Slytherin Reader, Slytherin's Locket, Smoking, Smut, The Black Family is Dysfunctional, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, The Reader Is Sirius And Regulus's Sister, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), Young Sirius Black, black family!reader, jily, what the fuck is this story, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingtulip/pseuds/smokingtulip
Summary: "Sirius was a fighter, Regulus was a thinker, but you, be it a blessing or a curse, were a survivor."A journey of seven years, marred with the trials and tribulations that came with being a member of the House of Black. As Sirius left home, the world got engulfed into a war, and Regulus turned to the Dark Side, everyone also grew up. A coming of age story of the Black family, through the eyes of a Black sister, who saw far too much but never said enough.
Relationships: Alecto Carrow & Amycus Carrow, Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Andromeda Black Tonks/Ted Tonks, Antonin Dolohov/Reader, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Cygnus Black/Druella Rosier Black, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, James Potter/Reader, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Orion Black/Walburga Black, Rabastan Lestrange & Rodolphus Lestrange, Reader & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Reader/Rabastan Lestrange, Regulus Black & Reader, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter, Sirius Black & Reader, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 112





	1. 1975-1977

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the love of my life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius leaves, James arrives, and a couple fights later, everyone is shattered even more than they already were.

**1975**

You were only ten when you realised that your cousin, Andromeda’s portrait had been blasted off of the family tapestry. Where her beautiful, radiant face had once been, now remained a dark smudge, a symbol of shame. You remembered your mother making several caustic remarks about Andie, as you had grown to call her, labelling her as a blood traitor and a disgrace to ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.’

Little had you known then that one day, that same smudge would cover the portrait of your brother. Sirius, who had just turned sixteen, had left the house in a fit of rage and disappeared into the cold December night. It was the matter of a few moments, you were sitting at the table for dinner, your parents engaged in their usual tirade, and then suddenly Sirius stood up, walking out of the room, out of the house, slamming the door behind him but not before the December chill had entered your dark home.

_Dear James,_

_I am writing in the hopes that as you read this, Sirius is by your side. It seemed logical to me that he should’ve gone to you and I sincerely hope that I’m not mistaken. If my brother is with you, please send a reply confirming that he’s alright. Regulus and I are sick with worry. Tell him that we love him, and that no matter what, he’ll always be our brother._

_I hope you are doing well, give my best to your parents._

You signed your name at the end of the short letter, putting it into an envelope and tying it to the leg of your owl. You nodded at the little creature and it flew off into the dreary London sky.

“Well, that’s done.” You muttered softly, rising from your place at the desk and sitting down on the bed. Regulus, who was lying down on your bed and staring up at the ceiling, hummed in response.

“You need a haircut,” You observed, nudging Regulus as you lay down beside him, “Scoot over.”

Regulus moved away, turning on his side to face you. You turned to face him too, looking into the eyes that resembled yours, but had been empty as of late.

“You think Potter will write back?” He asked, trying to sound nonchalant, as though he were enquiring about the weather, but nonetheless, you picked up on the strain of anxiety seeping into his voice.

“I think he will,” You replied, “He hasn’t got any reason not to, does he?”

Regulus was quiet, looking almost sleepy. You wouldn’t blame him; the past week had been incredibly tense. Walking on eggshells around your parents was already hard, now with the added tension of Sirius leaving and most likely being disowned, it was exhausting.

You were starting to think that your twin really had dozed off when he spoke again in a low voice.

“He shouldn’t have left like that.”

“What would you have had him do instead?” You asked, slightly surprised.

“I don’t know,” Regulus huffs, “But not _that_. He’s going to be blasted off the tapestry like Andie. What is he even going to do? How will he survive? He’s sixteen, for Merlin’s sake.”

“He’s…Sirius,” You said, vaguely staring off into the distance at the books on your desk, “He’ll manage.”

“So, you’re not angry? At all?” Regulus asked, propping himself up on an elbow as he gazed inquisitively at you through squinted eyes.

“I am, but…”

“But what?”

_But he shouldn’t have to live in a house like this._

_But he shouldn’t have to hear vile things from his parents every day._

_But he shouldn’t be forced to conform to beliefs he doesn’t agree with._

_But he shouldn’t be made to exist like us._

“But he’s our brother,” You finally said, pushing down your real thoughts into the murky abyss of your mind, “And we love him.”

“Speak for yourself.” Regulus scoffed, flopping down on the bed again.

“You love him, Reggie,” You said quietly, “I know you’re angry, but you love him. He protected us as best as he could.”

The loud gong sounded, signalling the commencement of dinner. You got up from your bed slowly, running a hand through your hair as a last-minute attempt to tame your locks. Regulus laid there for a few more seconds, eyes closed.

“Come on.” You tugged at his hand, pulling him up.

Silence was a hallmark of Grimmauld Place as much as screaming was. Sirius went away, leaving only silence behind. Neither you nor Regulus spoke a word as you took your designated seats at the long table, headed on either side by your parents. You cast a glance at Sirius’ empty chair beside your father. The coldness of the silverware seemed to seep through your fingers and right into your heart and not for the first time in several days, you wished that you and Regulus had had the courage to run away too.

The end of Yuletide and start of the spring term was one you had always loved. Unlike Regulus and Sirius, you had never been a fan of the cold weather. Every winter of your childhood had been spent in you getting dragged out of bed by your brothers in the wee hours of the morning and thrust outside to experience the first snowfall of the season. You hated it all the while, shivering in your coat, face going red, while your brothers laughed and cheered in delight.

They were always the saddest when March rolled around and the new leaves started sprouting back, the weather grew warmer, and the time arrived to pack away the thick coats for next winter. But you…that’s when you thrived. That’s when you were the happiest little girl, basking in the delight of garden parties and tea and pastries.

Your aunt, Druella, threw annual garden parties at her estate in France. You loved the French countryside, filled with its fragrant flowers and sprawling orchards. You could faintly remember a few springs where you, Regulus, Sirius, Cissy and Andie had run around the gardens while the adults sat at a distance and drank tea. Bella had always been far more serious than the rest of you, refusing to participate in what she called “children’s games” but there had been moments where you’d seen a slight smile on her face at the antics of her siblings and cousins.

Sometimes others would join you too, after all, Aunt Druella invited every “truly” pureblood family. You remembered that Lucius and Rodolphus favoured fishing, while Evan, who was Aunt Druella’s nephew through some diluted connection, and Rabastan, Rodolphus’ younger brother, favoured games of hide and seek.

As you had grown older, games of the garden had evolved into games of life.

Two years ago, Bella and Rodolphus got married, and then there had been some news of Andie marrying the muggleborn man that she had left the family for. Cissy had said in a letter that they’d even had a little girl but that you weren’t to disclose to anyone that she had told you.

You and Narcissa had always understood each other in some secret, unknown way. You both knew the pressure of always having to be the perfect daughter, elegant yet cunning.

She was one of the first people you had written to, after Sirius left, in hopes that she would understand the pain of losing a sibling to the maniacal strongholds of the House of Black. She had written back with sympathetic words in neat cursive.

The garden party had been tense that year, every family in the pureblood circle knew about Sirius and they cast looks of pity at your family. Your mother had gotten into a terrible row with her brother, Alphard who had asked her to forgive Sirius and take him back. Bella had made a few snide remarks about Sirius. Regulus had grown even quieter than he normally was, sinking into his own bubble that not even you could penetrate.

‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’ had started to crumble.

**1976**

“Regulus, let’s just go and talk to him.” You nudged your brother for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. This attempt too went in vain as Regulus refused to look up from his book.

You sighed, sinking into your seat again. You had been lucky to bag your own compartment.

“Reggie.” You whined, poking his shin with your foot.

“You go if you want to,” Regulus said sternly, “Besides, you’re taking it for granted that he wants to see us.”

“He was looking at us on the platform, Reg.” You deadpanned, shooting an unamused look towards your twin.

“Could’ve been looking at someone else.” Regulus muttered, flipping the page of his book.

“He’s not bloody cross-eyed!”

Regulus made no attempt to acknowledge your words or even indicate his interest, prompting you to get up from your seat and walk into the aisle, slamming the door shut behind you.

Perhaps it was a little hypocritical to call your brothers stubborn when you were no better yourself, but it had been months since you had seen Sirius, much less talked to him. Regulus’ angst at Sirius’ departure had morphed into a sort of anger which refused to let him reach out to Sirius.

You made your way down the aisle, manoeuvring around other students, most of whom were buzzing with the excitement of being reconnected with their friends.

You knew which compartment he was in even before you peered in through the glass pane of the door. The high sound of laughing and hooting could be heard quite clearly.

You hesitated for a moment, fidgeting in your place and summoning up the courage to knock on the pane. You sighed, quickly rapping your knuckles against the door, startling the boys inside. The sounds of laughing and talking died down abruptly as you slid the door open.

Four pairs of eyes fell on you. You noticed the pile of chocolates on the seat between Lupin and Pettigrew and the general relaxed atmosphere of their compartment, so different from the tenseness of your compartment and your life.

“Boys,” You greeted, cursing inwardly when your voice wavered in the slightest, “Sirius, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Sirius seemed to be shocked into silence for a few seconds, gaping at you. Then he got up, wiping his hands against his trousers, nodding as he followed you out into the aisle.

You gazed out of the series of windows in the aisle, observing the Scottish Highlands. Sirius stood next to you, silently observing the scenery too. The easy-going, open relationship that you and Sirius had once shared had been fractured, as you both hesitated to utter the first word.

“How are you?” You finally asked, deeming it to be a neutral conversation starter.

“Alright,” Sirius said, “Good.”

You nodded, playing with the ends of your hair, a habit you shared with Andie, and a habit your mother grossly disapproved of because it was not “proper”.

“Uncle Alphard wrote to me.” Sirius said, and you hummed. You had already expected that Uncle Alphard would reach out to his favourite nephew.

Silence fell over you again. The worst of your fears had come to life, your brother didn’t really want to be your brother anymore. You fought the urge to cry.

“Are you happy, Sirius?”

That was the only thing that mattered, right? That he was happy, that he was content after years of pain and suffering?

“I am,” He finally said, “But are you and Reggie?”

His question caught you unaware. You looked up at him and couldn’t help but notice that his eyes looked so much livelier than they had in years, there were no longer any bruises peeking out from under his clothes.

“Reggie and I have each other,” You replied, “We’ll survive.”

Sirius looked like he wanted to say something, going so far as to open his mouth and then clamping it shut.

“I should get back to them.” He said instead, cocking his head towards the closed door of the compartment in a shaky gesture.

You nodded, resigned. Clearly there was nothing more to be said.

Sirius flashed you a tight smile, sliding open the door of the compartment and moving inside. The door quietly shut behind him. You stood there, rooted to the spot. Perhaps this was the end of your relationship with your brother as you knew it. There would be no more mischief caused together, there would be no more sweets sneaked in and shared after dinner, there would be no more jokes.

Sighing, you turned away, but the door of the compartment slid open again, catching your attention.

“Hey.” James said, closing the door behind him.

“Hello.” You said, brows furrowing in confusion as to why James had sought you out.

“He’s still a bit shaken.” James shrugged, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“I’m sure,” You said softly, “Anyway, thank you for all your assistance. Not just for giving him a home but keeping Regulus and I informed. We’re very grateful.”

James nodded, chewing his lip.

Assuming that this conversation was also over, you smiled at him.

“Listen, uh,” He spoke, words hushed and hurried, “Do you and Regulus need…help?”

You blinked at him, soaking in the depth of his words. You were pierced to the core by the unwavering kindness of this boy. You had exchanged several letters with James throughout the winter holidays, asking about Sirius. Regulus pretended to not be interested but was also somehow always in your room when the letters arrived, waiting for you to read them aloud.

He had opened his home up to Sirius and you wondered if Sirius understood how lucky he was to have a friend like James. Not having someone like that of your own, you recognised James’ immense worth.

“I think one Black sibling is enough for now, no?” You said with a smile.

“If you need me, I’m here.”

You nodded, murmuring a faint “see you in school” and walking away.

-

You didn’t know if James Potter was your first love or not, but he was the first person who ever made you feel safe and loved.

Years later, he would become another ‘what if’ of your life.

A brief flirtation which could have been mistaken as James assuming a brotherly protective role towards you, escalated quickly when he invited you down to the empty Quidditch pitch in the morning and kissed you.

Regulus had squinted at your red cheeks when you returned to the common room, ultimately frowning in realisation.

“Be careful,” He had warned, “You and he come from different worlds.”

He was your first everything. First love, first kiss, first person you slept with.

First person you gave your heart to and the first person who broke it.

“I don’t think this is working out anymore.” James said, running a hand through his curls, which you had understood was a nervous habit.

“What makes you say that?” You asked, sitting rigidly beside him.

This was a conversation you had been expecting for a few weeks. James seemed distracted, cancelling dates, acting detached.

“We…we’re very different. We come from different places and I suspect we’re headed to very different destinations.” He said, looking at you but you made no effort to look at him, staring straight ahead.

“And?” You prompted, voice melting into a whisper.

“And what?”

“What else? I know there’s something else, James.”

James gaped at you for a moment, perhaps wondering how you knew. Nobody told you, of course. Teenage boys were simply very blatant about their feelings and you were very observant. It did not escape your notice how James’ eyes would light up when a certain redhead entered the room, something that never happened on your arrival.

“I like Lily,” James said finally, “And I wanted to break it off before my feelings for her escalated into more. I hope you can understand.”

You hummed in response, refusing to supplement it with words. Silence fell over you.

“Say something, please?” He pleaded after moments of nothing but the faint call of a thrush in the distance.

“What would you want me to say?”

“Listen,” He murmured softly, nudging at your chin with a knuckle, a beckon for you to look at him which you skilfully ignored, “Hey, none of that. Look at me.”

You looked up at him, meeting his kind hazel eyes with a steely gaze.

“You are…magnificent,” He murmured, running a thumb over your cheek bones, “You are strong and intelligent and beautiful, and I cherish whatever time we had together.”

“Is that why you want Lily?” You scoffed, amused yet hurt.

“We don’t get to decide who our hearts want and I’m sorry that I hurt you.” James replied with a deep sigh.

You stood up, brushing your skirt twice. James still sat there, looking up at you.

“Are we going to stay friends?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t stretch it as far as that. We can do acquaintances.” You muttered, walking back before he could get another word in.

Once back inside your empty dorm, you sat down at your desk. You would tell Regulus by tonight, but you doubted that his words would be of any comfort. He had been wary of James ever since your relationship had commenced.

Instead, you grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped your quill in ink.

_Dear Cissy,_

_I do not know who else to write to, who else I can express my pain to without fear of scrutiny. I dated a boy, and as per the norm, he broke my heart. Not that he’ll ever know it, but he did. Regulus warned me…_

By the time you were done, the whole page was filled with details of your entire rendezvous with James, all your feelings past and present. Of course, you left James’ name out. Narcissa didn’t need to know that the boy you’d given your heart to was a known blood traitor.

Cissy’s reply came two days later, carried by her beautiful snow owl. Narcissa, much like Regulus, was filled with quiet wisdom.

_‘I remember Mother telling me, the women of the House of Black are cursed. Be it your mother, or mine, be it you, me, Bella or Andie. Perhaps even Andie’s little girl. All of us, in some form or the other, are cursed by the virtue of the life that we were born into. Don’t buy into the idea of one love per lifetime, it’s a farce. Whoever this boy is, he doesn’t matter. You will love again._

_We are forced to live differently from our peers. There’s no simple teenage fun for us. I do not mean to dishearten you by writing cynical words but these are things I wish someone would’ve told me. You are intelligent, beautiful, and powerful. That is where your true strength lies and you must learn to harness it to your advantage._

_We are practically royalty in our world; albeit the title ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’ is self-imposed, nonetheless it stands true. You know exactly how I feel about Andie and Sirius’ foolery. There are ways to rebel even while conforming to the rules. I wish they had realised that._

_Life outside school will be different. It is only when you step out into the real world that you will realise how very precious the blood flowing in your veins is. It will help you get to places where nobody else can go. First heartbreaks are never easy, but you will heal. You will emerge stronger than before._

_Rebel quietly, my darling. Be the snake under the flower. Do not make life difficult for yourself unnecessarily. Our blood, while being a curse upon us, is also our greatest asset.’_

**1977**

You leaned against the railing of the Astronomy Tower, watching your brothers. Their voices were almost drowned out by the thunderstorm raging outside. You closed your eyes. What if you just leaned back a little farther, a little more? What if you were to lose your footing and plummet to the cobblestone path at the bottom? What if—

“We’re dead to you, Sirius, just admit it!”

You opened your eyes.

“You’re bloody deluded, Reg, you know that?” Sirius spat back, hair flowing wildly in the raging wind.

“Fuck you.” Regulus said through gritted teeth. He wasn’t someone who usually got angry but Sirius had a way of getting on his nerves.

“Fuck you too!” Sirius replied, throwing up his middle finger for good measure.

“Fuck both of you, honestly.” You said, crossing your arms over your chest, another habit that your mother despised.

Sirius had called you and Regulus for what you assumed was meant to be a reconciliation after months and months of nothing but glances in the hallways. It wasn’t going as well as he had hoped since Regulus’ anger had only grown in the past year. His anguish at being “abandoned” by Sirius had left him bitter towards his brother.

You may not have been as angry at Sirius as Regulus was, but the neglect and hurt still bubbled up inside you, rising as far as your throat, choking you from the inside.

“Got something to say, have you?” Sirius asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

“There are many things I would like to say, Sirius. You know this.” You respond, words teetering on the edge of malice in your otherwise calm voice.

“Spit it out then.” He urged.

“We’re fighting like this,” You said, “And for what?”

“We’re fighting because he fucking left and now, he refuses to acknowledge that we exist!” Regulus shouted, gesturing wildly towards Sirius, “That’s why we have to rekindle here, in the darkness of the night, away from any witnesses.”

“For Merlin’s sake, I have not forgotten either of you!”

“Whether you have or not, is irrelevant,” You said, stepping away from the railing, “There is a war looming, and our fights are nothing compared to that.”

“It doesn’t matter what side we fight on,” You continued, both your brothers hanging onto your every word, “At the end of the day, we’re nothing but pawns. Look at us, not even adults, already being forced to fight a war we have no stake in. Nobody cares if we live or die. Nobody cares about us…except us.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Innocent people are dying! When did you, out of all people, become so cold?” Sirius asked, looking like he was resisting the urge to shake you by your shoulders.

“I suppose you weren’t there to see my slow demise.” You muttered lowly.

“You have no right to ask her that,” Regulus said, “In fact, you have no right to speak to us at all. You were so busy gallivanting around with your adoptive brother, that you forgot that you left behind blood siblings. You hated your blood so much, that you forgot that your blood loved you.”

“Are you bitter that I managed to do what you never had the courage to do, little brother?” Sirius mocked, a sly smile adorning his face.

That smile, more than the aristocratic features shared by the three of you, spoke of Sirius’ heritage as a Black. That smile which charmed people and unnerved them all the same.

“There is far more courage in persevering than in running.” Regulus replied coldly.

“We promised ourselves that we wouldn’t be like our cousins,” You reminded them, “That if things all went to hell, we wouldn’t forsake each other like Bella and Cissy abandoned Andie. And now look at us.”

“Perhaps you’re more like them than you realise. Have you considered that the pureblood mania has gone to your head too?” Sirius asked, gaze darting between you and Regulus.

“And have you considered that you really are a traitor?” Regulus asked, voice dripping with ice.

Sirius stared at Regulus for a few moments in utter disbelief.

“I don’t need to stand here and listen to your bullshit.” He finally said, storming away.

“He’s beyond redemption.” Regulus said quietly.

“So are we, Reggie.” You replied in an even quieter voice.

Regulus shook his head before also leaving.

You turned back towards the railing. You leaned forward against it, feeling the drops of rain hit your face. You had lost your brother. Sirius was now irrevocably lost, never to be found again. In the one in a million chance that Sirius ever came back, Regulus would never forgive him.

How had things gone so wrong? Reggie who had looked up to Sirius all his life, now despised him. Sirius, who had always been your protector had now turned his back on you.

You couldn’t shrug off the feeling that the coming war would destroy all of you. Whether it was going to be through death or other means, only time would tell.

You didn’t realise when your tears had mingled with the drops of rain on your face.


	2. 1978

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa and Lucius get engaged, the looming war threatens to tear the family apart, and one miscalculated rebellion later, Rabastan Lestrange enters the scene. Narcissa and Lucius tie the knot and Regulus mingles with the wrong folks.

**1978**

“Cissy’s engaged!” Regulus exclaimed, bursting into your dorm.

You looked up from your Potions textbook at Regulus’ excited, dimpled face.

“What?”

“Well, you’d know if you opened any of your letters,” Regulus gestured at the pile of unopened mail on your desk, “But Cissy is engaged to Lucius.”

Truthfully, your habit of opening your mail had dwindled. All your usual habits had died down in the past year. Sirius and Regulus were now at odds and you were walking the tight rope between them, unable to side with either one and unable to reconcile them with each other.

You painstakingly took care of your appearance, no longer out of your love for it, but because it served as your only shield. People seldom asked questions when one looked prim and proper on the outside.

Regulus was less than impressed at your recent habit of smoking. Whenever he caught you with a cigarette propped between your lips, his lip curled in distaste. You knew why—it reminded him of Sirius. A few months before Sirius left Hogwarts, Uncle Alphard died, leaving a large amount of money for Sirius in his will. Your mother had blasted off his portrait from the tapestry too, for his support of her disowned son.

You had received some news that Sirius had moved into his own place in London. You never attempted to visit.

You didn’t even like smoking, honestly. But the very reason which made Regulus hate it, was the reason you loved it. It reminded you of Sirius. The last connection that you had to your lost brother.

“Dear Reggie,” Regulus read out from the letter, taking a seat beside you, “It pleases me to no end to inform you that Lucius and I are now engaged. His proposal was the most romantic thing that has ever happened to me. We were visiting family in Marseille…”

You listened to Regulus excitedly ramble about Cissy’s very romantic engagement, humming in the right places to show that you were still listening though your attention had drifted elsewhere.

“There is to be a celebratory party on the 25th of August. I look forward to seeing you there,” Regulus said, “Love, Cissy.”

Even the mention of a party exhausted you.

“That’s all of our cousins married off, then,” Regulus sighed, “Lucius is an arse sometimes, but he really does love Cissy.”

“He’s a fucking death eater, Reg.” You deadpanned, staring blankly at your brother.

Regulus looked startled.

“You don’t know that.” He said, frowning at you.

“Please,” You scoffed, “ All of them are. Lucius, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Alecto, Amycus, Bella. Now, we just have to see if Cissy will join them.”

“What is up with you?” Regulus asked, an annoyed gaze skewing his handsome features.

“Nothing.” You murmured, looking down at your potions book again.

The book was suddenly snatched up from your lap and thrown aside. You glared at Regulus who glared right back at you.

“Cut the bullshit and just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong, Regulus,” You replied, “What the fuck could possibly be wrong in our pathetic fucking lives which have been written out for us even before we were born?”

“Not this again.” Regulus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you were perfectly okay with participating in this charade which is our lives. At least, Sirius—”

“ENOUGH WITH SIRIUS!”

You blinked, taken aback by Regulus’ outburst. Regulus rarely raised his voice. In fact, it upset him so much that he would often start crying after having shouted at someone.

In that way you supposed, Sirius and Regulus had had opposite reactions to their abusive upbringing. Sirius had rebelled loudly, boldly. Regulus had shrunk into himself and conformed in order to avoid confrontations.

“I love you, but I have had absolutely enough of you talking about Sirius,” Regulus said, voice quieter than before, “Can you really not get it through your head that he doesn’t give a fuck about us?”

“He’s our brother.” You whispered, voice breaking.

“No, he is not,” Regulus said firmly, “He doesn’t want to be a part of the family. He’s off the tapestry, for Merlin’s sake!”

“That fucking tapestry means nothing!” You yelled back this time, “Can you really look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t miss him? That you don’t lie awake at night thinking about what he’s doing? That you don’t wish we’d run away too?”

“You’re destroying yourself because of him, you idiot,” Regulus snapped, “And he doesn’t care.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the past three years, Reg? You think I don’t know that you go into his room when you think nobody’s watching and stare at his dumb Muggle posters? You think I don’t know that you’ve cried yourself to sleep because of him? You think that I don’t understand that the only reason you’re so angry is because you miss him?”

Regulus’ eyes drifted downwards, answering your questions. You sat in silence; shoulders pressed against each other. You leaned your head down against him, feeling the soft fabric of his sweater brush against your cheek.

“I’m sorry, Reg.” You said quietly, voice cracking from the effort of trying not to cry.

His body shuddered and you realised, much to your horror, that he had dissolved into tears. He brought a hand up to his face, unable to bite back the ragged sob which left him.

“Reggie,” You whispered, shocked and immensely guilty, “Reggie, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

Not knowing what else to do, you hugged him tightly, manoeuvring his head onto your shoulder as he cried. You pushed your cheek against his dark curls, running a hand up and down his arm in what you hoped was a comforting gesture.

Yet even now, you couldn’t help but think about how reminiscent of your childhood this was.

Sirius had been six at the time. You were all playing outside when he tripped and fell, badly bruising and scraping his knee. As any child would have done, he had started crying and had ran inside to your mother. Instead of the comfort that he had been expecting, he was met with a slap across his face by your father.

_“Men of the House of Black don’t cry, Sirius.”_

You and Regulus had watched with wide eyes how Sirius stopped crying immediately, lips pressing into a thin line.

That incident had left a lasting effect on both your brothers, and perhaps by extension, on you too. None of you ever managed to cry in public again, never managed to cry in front of anyone except each other, even if your heart was breaking into a thousand little pieces.

“Why would he leave us?” Regulus gasped out between sobs, clinging onto you as if you would disappear too.

You doubted that there was any answer that would heal your brother’s broken heart. So, you held him a little tighter, pressed a kiss to his temple and hoped that one day you would both manage to move on.

-

Cissy’s engagement party was incredibly…Cissy. There were narcissus flowers everywhere. She looked beautiful, almost ethereal. Narcissa had always stood out because of her light hair in a family which was known for the glossy dark locks of its members. Now, standing beside her fiancé, they looked almost like siblings because of their platinum hair.

But more than that, she looked happy. Not one of her polite socialite smiles either, she looked genuinely joyful and in love.

“The wedding is scheduled for December,” Narcissa said, “In fact, my first fitting for the dress is next week.”

You smiled politely, taking a deep swig of your champagne. The edge of the flute now carried an imprint of your red lipstick.

“Well, you two really are perfect together.” You responded, noting with amusement the blush which rested high on Cissy’s cheeks and the proud look on Lucius’ face.

“Dolohov.” Lucius greeted the man approaching you.

“Lucius,” He replied with a grin, nodding his head to Cissy, “Narcissa. Congratulations.”

You knew who Antonin Dolohov was, you’d seen him once or twice with Lucius and all his death eater friends. With an aquiline nose and deep-set dark eyes, he gave off a rather intimidating aura. Lucius introduced you as Narcissa’s cousin.

“You’re in Hogwarts?” He asked, bringing you a drink.

“Seventh year.” You replied, clinking your glasses together.

“Seems like an eon since I was there.” He said, peering down at you. He towered over you at well over six feet.

“You were what? Two years above Lucius?”

“Three actually,” Antonin corrected you, “I was in Bella’s year.”

Suddenly you were approached by Regulus, who caught you by the arm.

“Mother’s calling you.” He whispered lowly into your ear.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” You flashed a saccharine smile to Antonin.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you followed Regulus over to where your mother was standing with a frown on her face.

“What?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I want you to stay away from the Dolohov boy, do you understand?” She said through gritted teeth, so that no one except you could hear.

“Why?” You scoffed, “His blood isn’t pure enough for you?”

“You will do as you’re told.” She seethed, wrapping her thin fingers around your wrist and squeezing it as a warning for what punishment followed disobedience.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that you were decidedly tipsy, or maybe it could be chalked up to a stupid show of bravery under the guise of disobedience, but you yanked your hand away from her grasp, shocking her.

“I will most definitely _not_ do as I’m told.” You replied, walking away, secure in the confidence that she wouldn’t pull one of her tantrums in the middle of the party lest it tarnish the reputation of the House of Black.

Maybe that was how you ended up in one of the spare rooms, pressed up against the wall with Antonin’s unrelenting grip around your waist and his lips trailing down your neck.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He chuckled, “You’re practically a kid.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m legal,” You muttered back, unduly annoyed, “Now, kiss me.”

You tilted your head up and pressed your lips against his, feeling his hands trace the curve of your waist. His slight stubble scratched your skin, alighting your nerves. He tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping at it playfully.

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck.

“What is it with you Blacks and always getting your way, hm?” He asked, sucking onto your neck, leaving what you were sure was going to be a very visible bruise.

“It’s called being aristocracy.” You murmured, unbuttoning the top of his robes.

His cold fingers pushed under the silk of your dress, caressing the sides of your thighs. You leaned forward, pressing your lips to the column of his throat that you’d managed to expose after wrestling with his buttons.

A shiver jolted through your body as he grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around. Your cheek was pressed against the cool surface of the wall and you could feel every inch of his body superimposing on yours.

Suddenly he was ripped away from you, and a hand grasped your arm painfully tight, pulling you towards them. You blinked in confusion, only to realise that your parents had walked in on their daughter being ravished by a man they disliked immensely.

“You stay away from my daughter.” Your father said through gritted teeth, pointing a finger right in Antonin’s face. Antonin looked startled, unsure of what had just transpired.

“Is it so necessary to be a brat all the time?” Your mother’s fingers dug into your sensitive skin, burning. You stared back at her, stone-faced and rigid.

“Do you intend on running the prestige of our family into the ground?” Your father spat, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets in rage and disgust.

You cast a look at Dolohov, who still seemed very confused by the sudden turn of events. Your red lipstick had smudged against his mouth, a streak of ruby visible even from afar. You bit back a grin, wiping at the edge of your lips with a finger which came away red. You pulled your wrist out of your mother’s grip for the second time that evening, slyly winking at Dolohov before walking out of the room. The last thing you saw before your exit was the half-smirk on Dolohov’s face and the furious expression of your parents.

Back home, your mother all but dragged you into the parlour, screeching wildly about how much of a disgrace you were. The effects of alcohol had dulled down, leaving you with little to no courage in the face of her wrath.

“What were you trying to do, you little brat?” Your mother’s ungodly high-pitched voice rattled your eardrums, “What did you get from doing this? You shamed us, parading around with that disgusting man and whoring yourself out!”

“You know what they say,” You remarked with a mirthless laugh, “Like mother, like daughter.”

She seemed at a loss for a second, eyes wide, her thin body almost shaking in fury. Perhaps it was because she was at a loss for caustic words that she swung her hand up, slapping you right across the face. Your head whipped to the side from the force of her assault, hair shadowing your visage.

You blinked, hand resting against your cheek.

“Mother!” You heard Regulus cry out in shock.

Your cheek was warm to the touch, though you expected it was more from embarrassment than from the collision of her hand with your face. Tears that you had been holding back all evening, maybe for days now, started sliding down your cheek.

“Just get her married.” Your mother told your father, collapsing into the nearest chair, as if she was the one who had just had the wind knocked out of her.

You stared at her, jaw slack in confusion and shock.

“Walburga—” Your father started but was again cut off by your mother.

“The younger Lestrange boy,” Your mother perked up as if she had just had the most brilliant idea, “Rabastan, isn’t it? I’ve always liked him. The Lestranges are such a reputable family, Bellatrix is married to the older one.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, voice breaking. You looked at Regulus who also seemed shell-shocked.

“If they’re good enough for your cousin, they’re good enough for you.” Your mother said, as though her decision on the matter was unchallengeable and absolute.

“Bella is fucking miserable with Rodolphus!” You screamed out, vaguely aware of how weak your knees felt.

“Do _not_ swear like a harlot!” Your father interjected, silencing you. Then turning to your mother, he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

You continued to watch in abject horror as your father left the room.

“Mother, you can’t be serious.” Regulus’ tone revealed his thinly-veiled distress.

“This doesn’t concern you, Regulus.” Your mother snapped.

“She’s seventeen!”

“This matter is not up for discussion!”

With that, your mother too got up in a flurry and headed for the door.

“Mama,” You called after her, voice reduced to a plea, “Please don’t do this.”

She paused, though she never did turn back. You hadn’t called her that in years. The last time you’d said that, you were a child and up to her waist in height. If she had turned back, she would’ve seen the tears sliding down your face, glistening in the faint light of the parlour. If she had turned back, she would have seen Regulus staring at the floor, shoulders stiff and jaw clenched.

If she had turned back, she would have seen how miserable her children were, dying in the suffocation of 12, Grimmauld Place.

You laid awake in bed, sitting up against the headboard, fidgeting with your wand, knees drawn up to your chest.

Two knocks sounded at the door in rapid succession. A stream of light entered from the hallway as the door opened and Regulus stepped inside. You looked up at him through tired, vacant eyes. He sat down beside you wordlessly. You hadn’t changed out of your dress, hadn’t bothered to wipe away your makeup, hadn’t bothered to do anything except sit in the darkness and cry.

The only source of light was the thin stream of moonlight from the window. Regulus bit his lip to refrain from commenting about the marks left by Dolohov around your neck and shoulders.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You shrugged, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Just wanted to feel something.”

He nudged forward, wrapping his slender arms around you. You laid your head down on his shoulder, finally closing your eyes. You heard him humming the faint strain of a melody you hadn’t heard in years. Sirius picked it up from Remus within his first year and used to hum the lullaby to you and Regulus when you sneaked into his bedroom at night.

You pressed your face against his shirt, strains of music lulling you to sleep.

-

“Rabastan’s here to see you.” Regulus said warily, leaning against the sofa.

“Here?” You asked, turning towards him, eyes wide. You had just walked into the common room, ready to leave for your weekend excursion to Hogsmeade.

Regulus nodded, casting a side-eyed glare to a nosy fifth year who was trying to listen in on your conversation. The student immediately looked away, pretending to be very interested in their book.

“This is Mother’s doing.” You muttered, face starting to resemble a thundercloud.

School was your safe place, away from all the chaos that came with being a member of the House of Black. In Hogwarts, you were nothing except a student. Not an heiress to a fortune, not a cousin to death eaters, not the daughter of pureblood maniacs. Here, you could pretend to indulge in the petty complexities of teenage life—an inter-house love affair, Quidditch matches, hell, even N.E.W.T.s.

“He’s waiting downstairs.” Regulus said, running a hand through his hair.

You left without sparing him a second glance.

Irritation flooded your veins when you stepped into the cool September air, only to be greeted by hordes of school girls whispering excitedly amongst themselves as they cast sideward glances towards your soon-to-be fiancé. Rabastan looked unperturbed, though he could hardly have been unaware that the whispers were about him and by extension, also about you.

Furious, you marched right up to him, tilting your head up as you cast a defiant gaze towards him.

“Why are you here?” You demanded, frowning.

“Your mother said that you could use a day away from all this Hogwarts drab.” He replied, an amused look on his face.

“Well, I’m perfectly fine amidst the “drab” so you can tell her to mind her bloody business!”

The amused look on Rabastan’s face evolved into a full smile. He had dark hair which had been pulled back into a low ponytail. His eyes were light, shadowed by dark lashes. He had grown to an imposing height of six-two, resembling nothing of the scrawny boy who had run around at Aunt Druella’s garden parties.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm to you, which you promptly ignored, choosing to walk without his support.

“This is my school, you know?” You said, “You can’t just show up here. This isn’t London, this isn’t my home, you can’t just arrive and whisk me away whenever your heart desires. I’m not your to-be fiancée here.”

“I know.” He replied simply, walking behind you.

“Oh, you know, do you?” You asked, whipping around, “Then why are you here?”

“Because the engagement is in a month,” He answered, catching up to you, “And you and I haven’t spoken since your parents first introduced us. People are talking about this being just a set-up.”

“This _is_ a bloody set-up!” You laughed, though you felt no joy, “I’m fucking seventeen! You think people are talking? Try living in my shoes. Wherever I go, all my classmates can talk about is the fact that I’m going to be engaged before I leave school! I feel humiliated!”

Rabastan listened to your tirade quietly.

“Are you done?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you, “Then we can go. Take my hand.”

“I don’t need your fucking hand to walk.” You snapped back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No, but you’re going to need it to apparate,” He said, “I’m not taking my fiancée to bloody Hogsmeade, we’re going to London.”

“First, I’m not your fiancée yet,” You corrected, “And second, I know you haven’t been to Hogwarts in a long time but students aren’t allowed to just _leave_.”

“Which is why I have prior permission,” Rabastan sighed, gazing at you as though you were a toddler, “Now, will you please take my hand?”

“I want to fucking die.” You muttered under your breath, looping your hand through his.

You still weren’t used to the feeling of apparating, that swoop of air around you, similar to being trapped in a hurricane, you imagined. It left you feeling rather unwell at times.

The bright cobblestone path of Diagon Alley materialised in front of you. You drew your hand away from Rabastan, feeling rather underdressed and childish. You had forsaken your robes in favour of wearing a turtleneck and trousers to block out the cold winds of Autumn that you despised so much. Rabastan, the spitting image of a respectable pureblood wizard was dressed in black robes.

“What are we doing here?” You asked, still incredibly cross about Rabastan’s sudden appearance.

“I thought we could have lunch at ‘The Silver Spoon’, talk about things.” He replied.

‘The Silver Spoon’ was one of the elitist restaurants in Diagon Alley, with a waiting list spanning a month but you supposed it wasn’t hard for someone like Rabastan Lestrange to skip the line.

“It doesn’t bother you…the way people stare at us?” You asked, once your entrée had been placed in front of you. There had been some subtle whispers and some not-so-subtle stares as soon as you had entered the establishment. Your table was at the back of the restaurant, mostly hidden from prying eyes but you had already caught two women at another table trying to catch a peek at you.

“They’re staring because we come from the two most respectable pureblood families,” Rabastan said haughtily, “Why should that bother me?”

“Or maybe it’s because most people aren’t daft and have understood that this “relationship” is some sort of a sham, or perhaps because you’re seven years older than me!” You hissed at him.

That annoying look of amusement returned to his face as he lifted his fork to his mouth.

“What? It really doesn’t bother you?” You asked, baffled, “You’re completely okay with marrying someone you don’t even know? You’ve seen me when I was a literal child!”

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” He answered, “To get to know you.”

“No, you’ve brought me here because my mother told you to!”

“I know you’re less than pleased about this, but let’s not make it difficult for ourselves,” He murmured, and then gesturing to your untouched meal, said, “Eat.”

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.” You said childishly, looking away.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” He said, sounding ticked off, “We’re both purebloods—”

“It’s almost as if I’ve been cursed to spend my entire life surrounded by pureblood fanatics,” You rolled your eyes, “And Rabastan, don’t think I don’t know everything that you’re involved with.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’ve got no hand in the attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns all over England then, have you?” You raised your eyebrow, voice dropping to a whisper.

His jaw visibly clenched as he continued to stare at you with an expression which had escalated from annoyance to anger.

“What does that have anything to do with our relationship?” He asked stonily.

“You don’t think I deserve to know what kind of man I’m marrying? You don’t think I want to marry someone who’s a _good_ person?” You responded, taken aback that he would even consider asking such a question.

“And are you?” He questioned.

“What?”

“A good person?”

His question trumped you. Were you angry at his audacity, confused by his insinuation, or maybe just tired of sitting there and playing a role?

“Far from it,” You dryly said, “But in no way am I genocidal.”

“People do things under pressure,” He murmured against his glass, taking a sip, “Out of undue expectation.”

“What kind of expectation?” You asked, interest piqued.

“Familial, mostly. My brother and your cousin are loyal lieutenants, and by extension, so am I.”

What you hadn’t known then, and what you would not have understood until it was too late was the fractured relationship of the Lestrange brothers. Rabastan had grown up in the shadow of his elder brother, always the overlooked one. Most “truly” pureblood families had their origins in France, but most had moved to other parts of Europe around the 18th century.

The Lestranges were very proud of their French heritage, to a point where Rodolphus and Rabastan were forced to speak in French at home. Sirius, Regulus and you were fluent in French too but you had only studied it as a vernacular.

Their mother had passed away in childbirth due to complications in her pregnancy with Rabastan. The boys had thus been brought up by an overtly strict father, who having been infatuated with his wife, released the grief of his wife’s loss as anger towards his offending younger son. Unable to find love a second time, he became an alcoholic.

Rodolphus, who was four at the time, was shattered by his mother’s demise. He may not have been old enough to remember concrete memories of his mother, but he remembered her eyes of slate grey and the softness of her touch. Later he would grow to understand that his mother, for as long as she had been alive, had given him all her time, unlike many other pureblood parents. After her death, they fell into neglect as their father left their upbringing to tutors and nannies.

Perhaps it was due to his father that Rodolphus developed a strange resentment towards his brother. Children, being naturally inquisitive creatures, often do not realise the importance of tact. Rodolphus had once asked his father why he was always so cross with Rabastan. His father, bitter and worn down, had answered with words that young Rodolphus would never forget.

_“He killed your mother, boy. Killed her in cold blood!”_

The bitterness which grew in Rodolphus towards Rabastan, never allowed them to fully understand the sanctity of brotherhood. Spurred on by his father’s supremacist views, Rodolphus treated Rabastan as his inferior, not worthy of his company or love. As an adult, he had understood that his mother’s death was due to no fault of Rabastan’s, but the seeds of resentment that had been growing in him for years and years could hardly be struck down then.

All of this puzzled young Rabastan. The boy, for the life of him, couldn’t understand what he had done to anger his father so much. If he entered a room, his father left. Praise may have been an exaggeration but his father would at least acknowledge Rodolphus’ achievements while Rabastan would consider himself lucky if he got a side-eyed glance.

His brother seemed to follow in his father’s footsteps, treating Rabastan with contempt. Yet sometimes, when they were playing alone, Rodolphus would treat him as an equal. They would play and laugh as little boys were supposed to. If Rodolphus managed to sneak sweets past the house elves in the late hours of the night, he would share it with Rabastan; if Rabastan fell during their games, he would extend a hand to help him up.

Unfortunately, those moments were seldom and fleeting. While some of these memories made Rabastan smile, most of his childhood and teenage years were shrouded in feeling belittled and unloved. It was as though Rodolphus was this precious, untouchable being who could do no wrong, and he himself was simply a cheap counterfeit.

He had come across a photo of his mother in Rodolphus’ room when he was twelve. His father had taken down all the photographs of his mother that had once lined the walls of the Lestrange Manor, and he had long stopped asking questions about her to his father after he’d received a slap which had made his face throb with pain.

She looked gentle, he had thought, kind even. In that moment he had truly hated himself more than his father or brother ever would, thinking he really was responsible for killing her.

Rabastan spent all his life jealous of his brother. Jealous of the adulation that he always seemed to receive, jealous that he was the one everyone wanted while Rabastan was just the spare. He wasn’t Rabastan Lestrange, only Rodolphus Lestrange’s younger brother.

His brother, swayed perhaps by that psychotic wife of his, joined the Dark Lord. And Rabastan, always trying to emulate his brother in the hopes that one day he would amount to something, followed.

“I’m not going to take the mark.” You solemnly said.

He blinked at you, as if your words had shaken him from some sort of mental spiral.

“Pardon?”

“After we marry,” You said, “I will not take the mark. It is already a stain on my conscience to marry you knowing what you have done, it is shameful for me to even be related to Bella. I will not damn my soul further by joining you. This is unnegotiable.”

“I would never compel you to do so,” He replied, “I do not seek to control you.”

His promise was really the bare minimum. Yet for someone whose entire life had been pre-decided by others, they brought a sense of relief to you.

“Besides,” He smiled, “I don’t think you can be controlled, _belladonna_.”

“ _Belladonna_?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Pretty woman in Italian.”

“Also, the scientific name for deadly nightshade,” You said, “You know, the plant which first immobilises you and then kills you.”

“Even better.” Rabastan chuckled.

-

Really, that rock on your ring was a tad too big. It walked the fine line between old money and nouveau riche. It belonged to some great-great-great grandmother of Rabastan’s. Crafted during the Rococo period in France, when the principle was ‘the bigger, the better’, it was far too ostentatious for your liking.

It felt heavy, almost weighing your hand down. The cold white-gold ring was wrapped snugly around your finger and on top rested an asscher cut diamond.

The enchanted string quartet was playing melodious love ballads and guests were mingling in pockets. You resisted the urge to roll your aching shoulders.

“Tired?” Rabastan asked, noticing you fidgeting.

“Shoulders hurt.” You muttered, annoyed.

“Just a little longer.”

“That’s what you said twenty minutes ago.”

Regulus was being his charming self, flitting in and out of groups, engaging in small talk, laughing. He was, of course, incredibly upset by the engagement. He’d hoped it would get broken off before it became official, but no such luck. In fact, you’d thought that Rabastan would ultimately tire of your snarky attitude and call off the engagement.

Yet here you were, dressed in metres of burgundy tulle and organza, which perfectly matched the elegant piping on your fiancé’s clothes. Diamonds, sparkling like unicorn blood, dangled from your ears but they paled in comparison to the one on your finger.

Many who had come up to congratulate you had their attention on the ring, one going so far as to snatch up your hand and inspecting the jewel closely. Rabastan had promptly pulled your hand away and shot a glare at the offender.

Your parents were the most delighted you’d seen them in a long time. And here you’d thought that the only thing parents wanted was the happiness of their child.

“Next marriage after ours is yours then?” Narcissa said, all smiles, “Who would have thought?”

You resisted the urge to mutter “not me” under your breath.

“Congratulations.” Lucius nodded at you and Rabastan. Where Narcissa’s smiles were genuine and warm, Lucius seemed to be incapable of smiling without looking conniving.

“Two Blacks in your family then, Rabastan?” Evan sniggered, already on the other side of tipsy.

You watched your fiancé smile politely in response.

“Didn’t know you were into younger women, Rab.” Evan swayed a little, snorting in an ungainly fashion.

“Alright, Rosier,” Lucius intervened, “Had enough to drink?”

Lucius grabbed Rosier by the shoulder, steering him away. Narcissa followed with an apologetic smile.

“Time to get prepared for a lifetime of these comments.” You muttered.

You looked around, still fighting the urge to just sit down on the nearest chair and give your aching feet a rest. You were brought out from the reel of miserable thoughts running through your mind by the sensation of soft lips brushing against the top of your head.

“What did you do that for?” You gaped at Rabastan; brows furrowed.

“Daily Prophet reporter at your two, right behind Regulus,” He whispered and you discreetly shifted your head to catch a glimpse of the man, “He was about to take a photo and you looked far too stiff and unhappy, _belladonna_. So, I compensated.”

You felt a gnawing feeling in your heart—was this what the rest of your life was going to be like? Affection for the sake of appearances, love for the sake of reputation?

“Just warn me next time,” You snapped, “And stop calling me that.”

“Why?” Rabastan asked, amused, “You like it when I do.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if his words even warranted a reply. Deciding against a verbal row in the middle of a party, you huffed quietly.

The photo of Rabastan kissing your head made it onto the pages of the Daily Prophet along with a close-up of that blasted ring. The photo, much to your surprise, looked natural. If you could assess the situation without bias, you might have even said that it looked…sweet.

You pored over Regulus’ shoulder to read the article which was really a criticism of your age difference, the suddenness of your relationship, and the ostentatious nature of your engagement party and the coming wedding, under the guise of politely worded sentences.

“Vultures.” Regulus scoffed, folding up the paper and throwing it on the table.

You couldn’t help but agree.

-

If your family wasn’t such known pureblood fanatics, you would have assumed that somewhere along the ancestry line, Aunt Druella had veela blood in her veins which she’d passed onto Cissy.

She looked so alluring, radiant and Elysian. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would also look like that at your wedding. Probably not, you thought to yourself, a large part of her beauty came from the fact that she was actually happy. 

You had never seen Lucius look so genuinely happy either. It was unusual, to see someone of such a strict, poised demeanour grin upon seeing his bride. It was almost like seeing an actor break character for a brief moment.

You took the responsibility of escorting Cissy to get her changed after the ceremony. She couldn’t possibly dance and mingle among her guests in the heavy wedding dress that she had chosen to wear.

“Unlace the back?” She asked.

You stepped forward, untying the corset-like back of her dress, and saw her visibly relax once it came free.

You placed a cigarette between your teeth and lit it as you watched her step out of her dress and haul it into another room. You swatted away the initial fumes, opening the window so that the room wouldn’t fill up with the strong scent of nicotine.

“Are you smoking?” Narcissa asked, frowning at you.

“Nice dress.” You chuckled. It really was rather pretty, a floor-length champagne-coloured beauty. The back clearly wasn’t done up as she held the dress to her chest.

“When did you start smoking?” She enquired, turning her back so you could zip her up.

“Been some time,” You murmured, balancing the cigarette between your lips as you arranged the skirt of her dress, “Why, you want to try?”

“It’s dreadfully Muggle, don’t you think?” Cissy turned up her nose, though she looked rather intrigued, “Besides, it can’t be good for you.”

“Don’t be a fanatic, Cissy,” You replied, holding out your cigarette to her, “Here.”

She looked at it warily, as though it were capable of attacking her. Then she gingerly took it between her manicured fingers and placed it to her lips, inhaling deeply. Clearly it wasn’t for her, as she spluttered, pressing a hand to her mouth and coughing loudly. She handed it over to you, breathing heavily.

You bit back a laugh, patting her on the back.

“Merlin.” She finally said, laughing. You leaned against the wall near the window as she touched up her makeup.

“I’m really happy for you, you know?” You said in a quiet voice.

“Thank you,” She smiled, “When are you and Rabastan tying the knot?”

“Not before I’m eighteen. So, around this time next year.”

You cringed at the thought. In a year’s time, maybe less, you’d be in Cissy’s position. All dolled-up and ready to become a wife.

“You’re not happy.” She remarked plainly.

“Would you have been?” You asked, “If you were in my shoes?”

Cissy kept quiet.

“Can I ask you something?” You looked up at your cousin.

She nodded.

“You…know the things Lucius has done. The things he still does,” You said, “It doesn’t bother you?”

“I know he’s not a good person,” She answered, and if she had been taken aback by your question, she didn’t let it show on her face, “I know he’s done…questionable things. All our friends have. Bella’s perhaps the worst of the lot. But he’s good to me and I am selfish, so that is where my concerns end. Women go into relationships with the idea that they can change men. We can’t. But he’s my husband and the love of my life. I will protect him, come what may. That doesn’t make me a good person either, but then I never claimed to be one.”

“And what if he’s not the love of my life?” You asked in a hushed tone; these were secret words which would never leave the room.

“You really are too young for this,” Narcissa said, a simple observation, “You have to do it regardless, love.”

She squeezed your hand before moving away and leaving the room.

You stubbed out the cigarette with your shoe and watched the flickering orange tip die out and mingle into the ash. You muttered a quick charm to rid yourself of the acrid smell of smoke and returned to the party.

You blinked, surprised, as you watched Regulus, out of all people, talking in a corner with Bella, Rodolphus, Rabastan and the Carrows. Regulus, who hated these people. Regulus, who was unnerved by Bella’s presence and annoyed by the Carrows.

Still frustrated from your conversation with Narcissa, which had left you with more questions than answers, you marched right up to the group with no intention of tolerating anymore nonsense in one day.

The conversation came to an abrupt stop when you approached, their mouths clamping shut in a synchronised manner which would have been funny if you didn’t know that they were up to no good.

“I was wondering where you went.” Rabastan said softly, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Just helping Cissy,” You answered, “I apologise for interrupting but I need to speak to Regulus for a moment.”

The others nodded, giving you smiles that varied in their degrees of falsity, Bella not even bothering to smile.

Regulus stepped away from them and you guided him to a spot that you deemed safe from eavesdroppers.

“What are you doing with them?” You asked, casting glances to both sides to check again for any intruding ears.

“…Talking?” Regulus chuckled, playing it off as though it was nothing but he had never been good at lying to you.

“Talking?” You scoffed, “You hate them, Reg.”

“We were just making small talk.”

“Oh, is that why all of you shut up the moment I arrived?”

Your brother remained silent.

“You know what they are, Reggie, why would you want to be near them—”

“Your fiancé is one of them, you know?” Regulus deadpanned, “You’re being paranoid.”

“I will choose to ignore that low blow,” You said, “And in return, for once in your life, you will listen to me.”

You gave him no opportunity to argue further, turning on your heel and walking away, leaving him standing in the dark corner.


	3. 1979

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Mark shows up on Regulus' forearm, Rabastan emerges more as a friend than a foe, the wedding of the year fails to make either the bride or the groom happy, and Orion Black breathes his last.

**1979**

“Were you going to tell me?” You asked, voice barely a whisper.

You stared at the mark on your brother’s left forearm. The brand of a black skull with a snake protruding from its mouth seemed so prominent against Regulus’ pale skin. You felt as though someone had petrified you, unable to move, think, or react.

He had just been leaving your room after handing over a letter that had come for you. It had been a thing of chance that his sleeve had snagged on the door handle, revealing the brand.

Regulus remained quiet, head lowered, shoulders shaking with silent cries.

“Were you going to tell me or not, Regulus?” You asked, louder yet your voice shook, tears blurring your vision, making the Dark Mark on his arm resemble an ink blot.

Again, you were met with no answer.

“ANSWER ME!” You screamed, voice cracking and breaking like the image you had had of your brother all these years. If it weren’t for the wall that you were leaning against, you were sure you would have collapsed to your knees by now.

“How would I ever tell you something like this?” He questioned, looking at you through red-rimmed wide eyes.

“Why’d you do it? This isn’t you,” You shook your head in disbelief, wishing that any moment now Reggie would say that it was a sick prank of some sort, “This isn’t my brother.”

“And you know who I am that well?” He sprang up, his wild eyes filled with anger, “You think you know everything about me just because you’re my twin? Everything is always about you!”

“About me? You’re the one with…that on your arm!”

“It is always about you!” Regulus shouted, “It is about you and your fucking stupid marriage, it is about you missing Sirius, it is about your problems, your dilemmas, you, you, YOU!”

“I haven’t aligned myself with a genocidal maniac!” You yelled, “What about the fact that it is always me having to look out for you? I am not your fucking babysitter, Regulus!”

“Did I ask you to? Did I ask you to coddle me, protect me?”

“I am doing it out of the goodness of my heart!”

“Goodness of your heart? Don’t make me laugh, love,” Regulus sneered at you, “You think you’re better than everyone else, right? Some perfect fucking creation, aren’t you? You’re nothing but a cheap fucking knock-off of Sirius—” Regulus stepped closer, no longer screaming but the mania in his eyes intensifying, “—At least he had the balls to leave and fight for his ideals! What the fuck are you doing by sitting here and playing the pretty little princess?”

You stared at him. Was this the same brother who had pinched your cheeks when you weren’t paying attention to him yesterday? The same brother who would get sick by worrying himself when you fell ill? The same brother who had always been your biggest supporter, your strongest pillar?

“You’re going to die out there.” You mumbled, staring at a spot on the floor.

“Good,” Regulus snarled, “I want to.”

“Don’t do this, please, Reggie,” You begged, “You don’t believe in the things they believe, why are you doing this?”

“Yes, of course you know what I believe in. Even now you’re making this about you, you selfish bitch!”

It was hard to believe that these caustic, vitriol-filled words were coming from your brother. It was even harder to believe that they were directed towards you.

“I _hate_ you, Regulus,” You seethed, “I fucking hate you.”

He didn’t retort any further. You stared daggers at each other, watery eyes and all. The finality of your statement had left nothing more to say. Everyone said that the Blacks were known for their quick temper and sharp tongues. You supposed you and Regulus had proved everyone right.

You shoved him aside, storming out of your room.

It was a miracle that you didn’t trip down the stairs at the pace you were going. You yanked a coat from the stand, throwing the front door open.

“Where the hell are you going?” Regulus called after you, gripping the banister of the stairs, “It’s fucking raining, you maniac!”

You banged the door shut behind you, drowning out his voice. The rain poured down on you, chilling you to the bone. The cold of the night had only been complemented by the showers. You had walked out in a rage, without any destination in mind.

You stood there dumbly, feeling the cold water slide down the back of your dress, making the garment stick to your body. Your hair, no doubt, looked bedraggled. The fur of your coat and the leather of your shoes were going to be destroyed by the water.

He was going to die. No matter what Regulus said, he wasn’t a fanatic. Hell, this was the same boy who cried when other people got hurt. How in the world would he be able to torture and kill Muggles? And if couldn’t kill them…they’d kill him.

And despite all the words he’d hurled at you, all the sick, disgusting accusations which made your skin crawl, you loved him. You loved him and you weren’t going to watch him die.

You weren’t going to lose another brother, not over your dead body.

At least that could have been the only explanation for where you apparated. You slammed the door knocker, shaped like a bronze raven, twice against the door.

The loud rain didn’t let you hear the light pattering of feet but then the door swung open, revealing a tiny house elf who looked up at you inquisitively with large grey eyes.

“Yes, miss?” She asked in a squeaky voice.

“I need to talk to Rabastan,” You said, stepping into the warmth of the home, “Tell him Miss Black is here to see him. It’s urgent.”

“Right away, miss,” She nodded rapidly, “Please follow me.”

She guided you into the parlour and ignited a fire in the fire place before rushing out to go and fetch your fiancé.

You shrugged off the heavy coat which had become even heavier on soaking up water. Dropping it to the ground, you looked around the room. The wall in front of you was lined only with books, rows and rows of yellowing pages in black binding. There were a few chairs though you didn’t dare to sit on them. You were still dripping with water and they would just be ruined.

You toed off your shoes, cringing at the disgusting squelch of water which had found its way inside the shoe. You wanted to walk over to the blazing fireplace but that involved leaving a trail of water across the room, so you decided against it.

“I wasn’t expecting you—” Rabastan said, appearing at the door frame, “Are you alright?”

He walked over to you, a deep frown marring his features as he looked you over from head to toe.

“Merlin, you’re completely drenched,” He said, “Wait, I’ll ask them to get dry clothes—”

“No!” You grabbed his wrist, stopping him from turning away, “I need to talk to you, it’s very urgent.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It is of the utmost importance that no one ever gets to know about this, do you understand?” You asked, stepping closer and lowering your voice, “It will be as though I was never here, you never heard me say whatever I’m about to say. After I leave, I want you to wipe your house elf’s memory. Promise me.”

“What are you on about?” He asked, bewildered, “I don’t see why this conversation can’t be had when you’re not chilled to the bone.”

“Promise me, Rabastan.” You attempted to convey the urgency of the matter by tightening your grip around his wrist.

He stared at you for a moment, and you could almost see the cogs turning in his head, as though he was trying to figure out what might be of such vital importance.

“I promise.” He sighed, finally.

“I know, out of all people, I am the last person who has the right to ask any favours from you, but I need you to do something for me. I know what my brother has done,” You said, tearing up at the memory of the mark now staining the skin of his left arm, “I know that he’s joined all of you.”

Rabastan stiffened, jaw twitching in anticipation.

“He’s a damn fool who doesn’t understand that he’s not made out for things like that. I love him, he’s my family, the only person I consider family anymore, anyway. I don’t want to lose him,” You inhaled a shuddering breath, “So, I need you to look out for him. Keep a watch on him, protect him.”

“Do you realise what you’re asking me to do?” He hissed, gripping your shoulders.

“I’m not telling you to betray…him,” You blanched at the thought, “I just want you to look out for Regulus.”

Rabastan still looked hesitant.

You perched yourself up on your toes, placing a gentle kiss on his lips and out of desperation, said, “Please.”

He was shocked, staring at you. His eyes flitted down to your slightly parted lips. He grabbed your chin, pressing his lips against yours more insistently. You stiffened for a moment, surprised that he would take it further. But he was so warm. His hands, his lips, the heat emanating from his body becoming a source of comfort for you. You curved your body against his, kissing him back, giving just as good as you got.

“I’ll look after him,” He murmured against your mouth, “But you will never speak a word of this to anyone, is that clear?”

“Crystal.” You nodded, as he walked you back a couple paces, your back hitting the bookshelves.

You circled one arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, knowing full well that you were now getting his robes wet. You brushed your lips against his, his warm hands feeling like firebrands on your cold skin.

“Why are we doing this?” He asked, breathless.

“Why not?”

“We don’t like each other,” He chuckled, “Not like that, anyway.”

“And is liking someone a prerequisite for fucking them?” You questioned, hand sliding down from his cheek to his chest.

Truth be told, you too were unsure about why you were doing this. Was it the suffocating loneliness of Grimmauld Place which had made you desperate to be held close and cherished? Was it the sadness of being scorned by your brother? Or maybe, you thought sardonically, you had finally lost your mind and gone totally, utterly mad.

“You’re freezing.” Rabastan observed, running his mouth over your cheek and jaw, trailing down to your neck.

“Warm me up, then.” You replied, entangling your fingers in his hair. You tugged carelessly at the ribbon pulling back his dark hair, throwing it to the ground once you’d managed to get it loose. You gasped at the feeling of his hot tongue coming in contact with your neck as he sucked onto it. His hair was soft between your fingers and you realised that he probably couldn’t say the same about your drenched locks.

“Off,” He commanded, yanking down the chain of your dress, “Get this off.”

“Lock the door.” You murmured, peeling the wet garment off. He turned his head towards the door, mumbling a faint “Colloportus” under his breath.

Your dress pooled at your feet and you kicked it away in a swift motion. Rabastan looked you over once, before pressing his body against yours and kissing you with renewed vigour. You fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, struggling to get them undone.

The crackling of the fire became interspersed with your soft whimpers and gasps. His lips trailed over your jaw, as you finally managed to get his shirt open. His warm body felt like a furnace against yours and you sighed in relief. You reached behind you, opening your bra whose straps he’d already pulled down in order to kiss your shoulders.

You rested your forehead against the crook of his neck, breathing heavily as his slender fingers toyed with your nipples, gentle feather-light touches slowly being replaced by harsher, more confident movements.

“Warm enough?” He asked, sliding a hand down your stomach, hooking a finger into the top of your panties, pulling the fabric away and then letting it snap back against your sensitive skin.

“Not nearly.” You answered, pulling his mouth back onto yours.

His tongue slid into your mouth again, the sandalwood scent that you’d come to associate with him in the past ten minutes filling your senses. His hand came to rest around your neck, not pressing down, just encircling it. You tightened your grip on his hair experimentally, maybe he liked that. Your hypothesis turned out to be correct when he moaned into your mouth.

He dropped to his knees in one swift, elegant motion, looking up at you through lust-darkened eyes. Shadows danced across his face from the flickering fire. Just as he’d sunk to his knees, he pulled down your panties, nodding jerkily as an indication for you to step out of them.

There was something to be said about the power imbalance in the situation. You were completely bare, yet his shirt was only unbuttoned, hanging off his shoulders. But then again, he was the one on his knees in front of you, looking up at you through those dark lashes.

You brought a shaky hand to his face, running your thumb over his bottom lip in a surprisingly tender gesture. He responded by lifting your leg and hooking it around his shoulder.

“Fuck,” You cursed lowly at the first sensation of his tongue against your clit, “Oh…”

A few kitten licks followed, and then he pressed his tongue more insistently against you, tracing nonsense patterns with it. His fingers were gripping your hips painfully tight, sure to leave bruises.

You hoped that your parents would find out about this indiscretion too, maybe then they’d cancel the marriage. Sure, you’d get a few jarring words accompanied by a slap or two, but it would be worth it.

It wasn’t as if you hated Rabastan, you justified, in fact, how could you when his tongue was wreaking havoc on your body? Yet the fact that your mind was elsewhere even while getting fucked was very telling of the situation.

“Fuck, get up.” You instructed, tapping his shoulders.

He looked up at you, confused, and if you had been a demure, shy girl, the way his lips were glistening would have turned your face red. But being a “harlot” as your mother so frequently reminded you, you pulled him up, slamming his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hands rested on either side of your head, pushing against the old books as your hands sneaked to his trousers, unbuttoning it rapidly and pulling down the zipper.

“Fuck me.” You demanded, pushing his pants down just enough to free his hardened cock. There was no need to take off his clothes, no need to give this a romantic pretence.

“Insatiable little girl.” He murmured, holding your chin in one hand, tilting your head to the side as he kissed the paper-thin skin right beneath your ear. You shuddered, feeling his teeth graze against your skin and his cock press against you.

He thrust up into you, sheathing himself halfway into your warmth. A moan escaped him, muffled by your shoulder. You wound your hands in his hair, a soft, comforting gesture which immediately turned harsh and brutal as he pulled out and bottomed out in you.

Your head tilted back onto the bookshelf, back arching up into his torso. You moaned in unison. That was followed by a tense sort of silence. You turned your head to look at him, only to find him already staring at you.

“You are beautiful.” He murmured.

“How cliché.” You raised an eyebrow, yet somewhere you were touched.

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss you. At least that was what it had started as. It quickly evolved into the both of you just brushing your lips against each other, breathing heavily as he fucked into you, his hips slamming into yours, pushing you back against the bookshelf which was no doubt leaving indents and scratches on your back.

You liked this sort of thing. The whole notion of domestic bliss was lost on you. You never wanted to believe that your only duty was to marry a respectable man, have children, further the glory and prestige of your house and be a pretty little trophy wife.

Cissy had the ability to do that, not just because she was much better at pretending than you could ever hope to be, but also because she genuinely enjoyed this life. She sounded even happier after her marriage in her letters, and she’d always been a cheerful girl.

On the other hand, as much as you hated to admit it, you had taken more after Bella in this respect. It was no secret that Bella’s marriage with Rodolphus was one of convenience and that it could be described as co-existence at best and miserable at worst. They could’ve been fast friends if marriage hadn’t intervened, considering how similar they were in their maniacal tendencies.

Narcissa had told you some time back that she thought Bella was in love with someone else. Somebody who was unattainable, somebody she would pine after forever. You never bothered to investigate; your curiosity was always quite minimal when it came to your eldest cousin.

In your defence, she was terrifying.

You felt his eyes on you as you dressed yourself, having cast a drying charm on your clothes. You ran your fingers through your hair, attempting to untangle the knots. 

“What?” You asked finally, unnerved by his unflinching gaze.

“You’re something else.” He chuckled, cocking his head to the side as he continued to look at you. You took a seat across from him on one of the chairs, watching him. His shirt was still undone, hair still mussed up. It was…different to see him so relaxed, so unlike his usual buttoned-up self.

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Hardly,” He shook his head, “If anything, it’s rather refreshing, if anything. In our world of garden parties and etiquette and judgement, you’re different. And even then, those are simply shiny veneers for the true horror which lies underneath. The perils which lurk beneath the surface, haunt those who discover them for eternities.”

“Write a book.” You murmured, quite impressed at his eloquence.

“I wish I had that luxury, _belladonna_.”

“Why do you call me that?” You asked suddenly, melting into your soft seat, “I can’t decide if it’s a compliment or an insult.”

“It’s not an insult, I can assure you,” Rabastan said, “My mother was Italian. She died giving birth to me.”

“I’m sorry.” You murmured, feeling uncomfortable. You never really mastered the art of comforting people.

“There’s no need to be, I remember nothing of her,” He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers, “But I do wish I had some memory of her, something to tie me to her. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if I’d just been born as some nameless, ordinary boy. No burden of a family legacy to bear, no expectations to adhere to.”

In that moment, it felt as though you were gazing at a reflection of yourself. And for a moment, you felt pity, not seeing him as an adversary but as someone who had been forced into the same fate as you. While you were younger, he was also only twenty-four. Was that not too young an age to bear so heavy a burden?

“In a way I suppose I’ve always been trying to find some connection to her. So, _belladonna_ is nothing but my way of honouring the side of me that I have no hopes of finding.” He ended with a forlorn smile.

“And yet,” You remarked, resting your cheek against your palm, “One cannot ignore the deadly nightshade aspect of it.”

“I never said you weren’t a double-edged sword, Black.” His smile turned teasing and amusement seemed to come back into his voice.

You tried to fight the smile, but it made an appearance on your face anyway. Like Bella and Rodolphus, if there hadn’t been the threat of marriage looming above your heads, you imagined that in another life, you and Rabastan could have been friends.

“Best get going now.” You said, getting up. He nodded, putting your coat around your shoulders. He followed you out, buttoning up his shirt in the process.

“It’s good to be a double-edged sword in this world, you know?” He said, making you turn back, “Enemies everywhere, and all that.”

You hummed in agreement, stepping out into the darkness of the night. The rain had stopped long since.

-

“Father’s ill.” You said quietly, strolling down Diagon Alley alongside Rabastan.

It was a warm day in June, with three months left for the wedding, you were busy with preparations, be it getting fitted for your ostentatious dress, or buying gifts for guests. You were either accompanied by your mother or your fiancé.

Rabastan had realised that it bothered you to be around your mother so of late he had taken to going with you to run errands or other such boring tasks.

You didn’t mind, surprisingly. Things had changed between the both of you since that night. Though you were no way near in love with each other, or looking forward to the marriage, there was a silent understanding between you.

You had finished picking out some of the decorations by noon and after lunch, the both of you were traipsing about Diagon Alley, talking about the most mundane of things.

“Have you been to a healer?” He asked, frowning.

“Yes, they think it’s something to do with his heart, but they’re not sure,” You sighed, and then derisively added, “Must be all the inbreeding.”

Rabastan smiled, shaking his head.

“How is your mother?” He asked.

“The usual,” You rolled your eyes, “A sad, rude, fanatical _bitch_.”

“That tongue of yours is going to get you into massive trouble one day.” He said in a lilting voice, nudging you softly with his arm.

“I should hope so,” You scoffed, “I didn’t learn to say ‘fuck’ at the age of eight for nothing.”

“And Regulus?”

You paused. Regulus had become a tough topic of discussion as of late. He was rarely home, disappearing for hours on end with no news. After your argument he’d tried talking to you in an attempt to fix things, but it hadn’t really gone anywhere.

Some nights, when you weren’t angry or inexplicably sad, you would wait up for him, often falling asleep on the sofa in the parlour. He would never return before one or two in the morning. He would wake you up and then silently, you would both go to your own rooms and fall into a fitful sleep.

Your parents didn’t seem bothered by their golden child’s absurd behaviour. Your father’s condition, whatever it was, kept your mother busy and kept her off your back. If you weren’t out running errands for the wedding, you would sneak off to meet Rabastan once in a while or go to downtown London and get lost amidst the crowd.

It was always loud and bustling and for an hour or two, you could pretend that your father wasn’t ill, that your mother wasn’t losing her sanity by the day, that you hadn’t lost one of your brothers ages ago and now the other seemed to be headed in that direction or that your wedding wasn’t approaching uncomfortably fast.

In the crowd, you could pretend that you were no one. Just another nobody in the crowd who no one knew anything about.

“He’s reticent, at best.” You finally answered.

“He’ll come around.” Rabastan said and you nodded, though you found his consolation to be quite unhelpful.

He paused suddenly, making you halt too.

“Do you mind if I pop into Flourish and Blotts for a moment?” He asked, smiling apologetically, “I ordered a few books but haven’t gotten the chance to collect them…”

You waved him off, telling him that you’d wait outside. You watched the flocks of people flitting by merrily as you waited. It seemed as though half of the wizarding population of London had decided to visit Diagon Alley today.

You had discovered that Rabastan was an avid reader like Regulus. You used to be a voracious reader too, but that habit had dwindled over the years as you became occupied with other things. Rabastan had read majority of the books in his parlour, barring those written in foreign languages that he couldn’t understand.

You resisted the urge to rock back and forth on your feet like a child as you waited. A few people greeted you with a rather reverent “Miss Black” and tipped their hats or nodded their heads. You nodded back at them, never smiling for that was not aristocratic. Your mother’s words ran in your head.

_“Smiling makes them think you are approachable.”_

You moved further into the shade, annoyed by the harsh rays of the sun. You looked to your left, at the other end of the street. People were bustling around Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour and Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Suddenly, a mop of unruly black hair caught your eye, standing outside Madam Malkin’s. It couldn’t be, you thought, but it was. And it seemed as though he had also noticed you.

Among the throngs of wizards who seemed to be drifting in and out of the shops of Diagon Alley, James Potter was also there, accompanied by your brother. Unbeknownst to you, Sirius had dragged James out for a day of mindless fun to distract themselves from the war and the Order.

Yet here you were, face to face with your first love, albeit across the street. You wondered if you could just look away and ignore his existence, never acknowledge the flurry of emotions that had risen up inside you.

You hadn’t even thought about James in quite some time. You had just gone your separate ways and you believed he was still happy with Lily Evans. In retrospect, it wasn’t absurd that you’d finally run into each other. You frequented Diagon Alley almost every week because of the wedding, it was only a matter of time before you came across familiar faces.

The sun beat down on his skin, eyes wide as he stared at you, almost as if he didn’t believe his eyes. And perhaps, you should have looked away. But you were so scared that if you did, the spell would break and then he’d actually approach you.

You had cut ties with those sun-kissed years of your life a long time ago.

You looked at him, with what you hoped was a stony, emotionless expression. He turned around suddenly, and the mask of indifference slipped from your face as Sirius emerged from behind him. Sirius hadn’t realised why James seemed to be rooted to his spot, talking animatedly to his best friend. James nudged him, beckoning with his chin across the street, across to you.

The smile evaporated from Sirius’ face when his eyes landed on you. At least even after all these years you possessed the power to take away every ounce of his joy just by existing.

You looked back at the two boys with a fiery, challenging gaze, wishing more than anything that you could lower your eyes and walk away but that seemed too close to defeat.

Ultimately, you were saved by Rabastan. He emerged from the shop with a brown paper package in his hands.

“Sorry it took so long.” He said, picking up your hand and placing a tender kiss to the skin in apology. You vaguely registered that you wore your engagement ring on that hand. You prayed that the rock on your finger hadn’t been noticed by Sirius and James. Though, to be fair, there was nothing to hide. The news of your engagement and upcoming wedding had been splashed across the pages of the Daily Prophet.

“Come.” Rabastan patted your shoulder, and reluctantly you tore your eyes away from them. Your arm slipped through his and he guided you away. You fought the all-consuming urge to look back and catch a last glimpse of your brother.

As you walked away, you realised with a growing discomfort that you were walking away from what could have been your life to what it was now. The expanse of cobblestone between you and Sirius was the physical manifestation of the courage you never managed to muster up.

A physical manifestation of the emotional distance that had been created, never to be bridged again.

-

You sat quietly in your wedding dress.

Dressed to the nines, looking like a princess, dressed in tulle, silk, diamonds, no expenses barred. Yet so empty inside.

No, empty was perhaps the wrong term to use.

You were in turmoil. You felt shattered, pained, devastated. It really was too late to back out now. You cast a look at the open window and then shook the morose idea out of your head. Imagine the scandal for the family if they found out that the bride had killed herself?

No one was going to help you run away either. No one cared.

You felt too hot in the dress, it sprawled across the floor, drowning the room in white and gold. You turned back towards the mirror to catch a glimpse at yourself.

Not a hair out of place. All prim and proper, shining with the glow of your jewellery but not radiant from happiness. You were right, you looked nothing like Narcissa had.

“Are you ready?” The door opened and Regulus entered the room.

“What?”

“I said,” He repeated, “Are you ready?”

You stared at your brother, dressed so perfectly in his robes, the Dark Mark concealed. His eyes seemed kinder than they had in months, or maybe you were just starved for affection.

You shook your head. Resisting the urge to press a hand to your mouth, you rapidly shook your head, trying to will the tears away.

His face fell. He closed the door quietly behind him.

“I can’t do this,” You gasped, clutching his hand as he came closer, “Please take me away, take me away from this.”

“If I could, I would,” He murmured, squeezing your hand, “You know I would take you far away if I could.”

Sirius would have, you thought bitterly, Sirius would have rescued you. In fact, he would’ve never let this happen to you. He would have taken you far away, hidden you away from everyone. You would’ve never been here if you still had Sirius.

But what good would it do now to dwell on impossibilities?

“I can’t do this.” You shook your head again, pacing around the room, a task which proved difficult in your dress.

“You like him,” Regulus said softly, “That’s better than nothing, right?”

“And do you want to marry everyone you like?” You asked harshly, staring him down.

You liked him, true, but not enough to marry him. Not enough to spend an entire lifetime with him.

“I have to go.” You suddenly said.

“Go where?” Regulus asked, alarmed, eyebrows shooting up and disappearing beneath his hair.

“Get away,” You answered, feeling breathless, “I can’t marry him.”

“Are you insane?” Regulus asked, grabbing your wrist tightly, “Everyone is waiting downstairs!”

“So?” You retorted, trying to free your hand from his grip, “Weddings get broken off all the time.”

His grasp loosened around your wrist. You looked up at him, surprised. Would he let you go then?

His eyes seemed so sad, like swirling pools of murky water. He’d grown thinner, already sharp features now appearing gaunt.

“It’s too late.” He whispered.

The dam broke. His words seemed to render you useless as you dropped into your previously occupied seat. Your chest felt too tight, you couldn’t breathe. Your hands were clammy, and your entire body was starting to break out in a cold sweat though you hardly realised it. You just wanted to be out of the tulle monstrosity that your dress was, it was as though it was suffocating you.

All tell-tale, textbook signs of a panic attack.

“Ca-can’t breathe.” You gasped out somehow, looking at Regulus through wide, tear-filled, frightened eyes. Regulus was saying something, but his words seemed all garbled. The tightness in your throat was starting to hurt.

Regulus kneeled before you, saying something you couldn’t possibly understand, before he squeezed your hands and rushed out of the room.

You sat there, confused, fisting your dress in your palms, as if you could pull it away from your body if you did that.

Regulus came in again, but this time with a worried Cissy in tow.

Narcissa’s sudden appearance startled you, as you blinked in bewilderment at her.

“Hey,” She said, softly, kneeling in front of you, “Can you hear me?”

The words seemed distant and far off but were far more discernible now.

You nodded in a jerky motion.

“Alright, love,” She nodded, “I need you to breathe with me, okay? We’ll breathe together and everything will be okay. Nod if you understand.”

Again, another jerky nod.

“Inhale,” Narcissa breathed in deeply and you saw her shoulders rise, mimicking the same movement, “Good, now exhale.”

Her shoulders slowly fell and so did yours.

“Again, love,” She stroked your hands, “Inhale…exhale.”

You followed her breathing pattern for several more minutes. Soon your breathing returned to normal, airways seeming to have magically cleared. You were only left with the uncomfortable sensation of having been out of breath, like a child who had just run a mile at top speed.

“Better now?” Cissy asked, running her thumbs over your knuckles.

“Thank you.” You whispered, looking at your cousin.

“I want you to be strong, okay?” She said, “I want you to be strong for me and Reggie.”

She cast a look at your brother, who looked terrified and confused by what had just transpired.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“I know,” She smiled a sad sort of smile, “But we’re here. Reggie’s going to take your hand and take you downstairs. I’ll be right there too. We will just go through the ceremony quickly and then the worst of it will be over. Isn’t that right, Reggie?”

Regulus who seemed to be in a trance, nodded slowly.

She helped you up, arranging your dress as you had done hers. She handed you a glass of water, urging you to drink. The cool water was a relief to your parched and aching throat.

“Where did you learn to do that?” You heard your brother ask Cissy softly.

“Andromeda got a lot of panic attacks. I learnt young.”

You cast another look at yourself in the mirror. You still looked more or less immaculate, barring the flush that shadowed your face and ran down your neck.

“Come.” Regulus called.

You slipped your hand through his.

“I’m always here.” He murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You wedded Rabastan Lestrange on 9th of September, 1979, at the age of eighteen. He looked at you with kind eyes, and you looked back at him with empty, listless ones.

Everyone thronged around you, congratulating you on a match made in heaven.

As you sat quietly, surrounded my family and friends, you stared at the new rock on your finger. It was just as obnoxiously big and now rested where your engagement ring had been, which had been moved to another finger.

It glinted in the diffused light of the chandelier, dispersing the white light into rainbow beams. Many had admired the jewel, talking about its ancestral value and beauty. Yet all you saw was a rock.

The heaviness of your hand could only be bested by the heaviness of your heart.

-

Orion Black breathed his last a month after your wedding at the age of fifty.

As you stood between your brother and your husband, accepting everyone’s condolences, you couldn’t help but feel as though there was no point to it at all. You weren’t particularly crushed.

How could you be, when it felt as though you had never really known the man who was your father?

Your father was a tall, imposing man, who was terrifying. Not because he was always screaming and shouting like your mother, but because of the exact opposite reason. He was always quiet, unpredictable.

The earliest memory that you had of your father was from when you were three.

_You had all been playing inside the house, something which was strictly off bounds. But your mother wasn’t home, and your father was locked up in his study, so who was going to stop you?_

_You squealed in delight, watching as Sirius threw the ball to Regulus and the latter almost missed._

_None of your tutors were around and you all had an afternoon free from having to sit with them and pore over your books._

_“Throw it to me, Reggie!” You jumped up and down, “Throw it to me!”_

_Regulus tossed the ball over to you and you caught it in your two tiny hands._

_“Come on, pass it over!” Sirius urged with outreached hands._

_You threw the ball over to him. But you were only three, with no understanding of how much force you should throw the ball with to make it land in Sirius’ hands. Eager to outdo your brothers you hurled the ball across the room. It sailed right over Sirius’ head and struck a vase behind him. All three of you watched in horror as the vase fell to the ground, shattering into a million little pieces._

_You stared at each other, terrified._

_There was the sound of a door slamming upstairs, followed by heavy footsteps._

_“What in the devil is going on here?” Your father appeared in the room. His eyes flitted between the three of you before landing on the broken vase on the floor._

_“Who broke it?” He asked, voice alarmingly low. You were only three, but you had understood that your father speaking in an exceedingly calm tone meant nothing but misery for everyone else._

_None of you answered, staring at the floor._

_“I asked a question,” He said, “And I expect an answer. Who broke the vase?”_

_You kept quiet, too scared of what your father would say or do._

_“Alright, if none of you will admit to it, all three of you will be punished. Severely.”_

_“I did it!” Sirius piped up, “I broke it.”_

_Your head snapped up at him, as you stared in confusion. You glanced at Regulus through the corner of your eye, whose face mimicked your own._

_Your father looked his eldest son up and down with a look of distaste. Even the ever-courageous Sirius seemed to wilt and cower in front of your domineering father._

_“Follow me, Sirius.” Your father instructed, turning on his heel and walking back up. Sirius followed quietly; head lowered._

_You watched aghast, as your brother took the fall for you and consequently got punished for it. It was the first time that it had happened, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last._

Even the very first memory of your father was shrouded in violence and hurt.

Fathers were supposed to be the ultimate protectors for their daughters. Though you’d never admit it, it stung deeply when you saw your peers jump into the arms of their fathers when you went home for holidays or the end of term. Your father never even showed up to receive you at King’s Cross Station.

The girls in your year always complained about how their fathers had driven away their crushes or boyfriends by telling them to stay away from their precious daughters. You listened quietly, never knowing what to say, never having a story of your own because your father had never cared enough and growing up in an abusive household, being secretive about everything had become second nature to you.

The last significant memory you’d shared with your father was when he walked you down the aisle. His heart condition had aged him considerably and he no longer stood as strong and tall. Regulus had offered to take his place, but he’d refused adamantly, saying that the people needed to see that the patriarch of the House of Black was iron-willed and unwavering.

You wished he’d have told your brother, _“I don’t want you to walk her down the aisle because she’s my daughter.”_

After your wedding his condition had worsened considerably. He became weaker and weaker as the weather got colder and by the time the birch tree in front of your house had shed all its leaves, he had become bed ridden.

Regulus stayed by his side, not going out as often as he used to. You dropped in as often as you could, at least three to four times a week. It was hard, juggling a new marriage and an ailing parent. Your mother always sat at a distance, watching her husband with a watery gaze. Maybe even they had found comfort in their marriage, in each other.

Your father never spoke to any of you, instead staring out of the window, watching the skeletal branches of the birch tree.

You watched the casket being lowered into the ground of the Black mausoleum. For generations, members of the family had been buried under the mausoleum.

You vaguely registered your mother walk away and Regulus follow after her. You continued to watch the casket until it was closed using magic, white marble blocking it from view.

The lack of sorrow and despondency you felt, or rather didn’t feel, made guilt stir up inside you. You pushed it down again.

Why should you mourn someone who never cared for you?

The weak Autumn sun could hardly penetrate through the black net of your fascinator as you left the mausoleum, never to set eyes on your father ever again.


	4. 1979 (Continued)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus wanders deeper and deeper into murky depths, finally drowning in them. Sirius returns for a brief reconciliation while the death tolls of Muggles and Muggle-borns in England rise steeply.

It had come to your notice that co-existing with someone was a different shenanigan than liking someone and somehow, the former was a lot harder than the latter.

All your things were arranged in what you fondly referred to as “organised chaos”, meaning it seemed like it was a mess, but you knew exactly where things were.

And did Rabastan hate it.

Despite having house elves to clean up after him all his life, Rabastan was strangely organised. He kept things back in their place after their use and it was very easy to understand which side of the room his things were on and which side belonged to you.

It wasn’t horrible being married, but you would still never recommend it to another. There were nights when you’d just lie in his lap as he read and he ran his fingers through your hair, lulling you to sleep. Your days were interspersed with tender moments, be it a kiss on the cheek before sitting down for breakfast, or flowers kept in a vase on the table as a surprise.

One day, the both of you had impulsively apparated to a small town in the English countryside and spent your day there, lounging about on the grass, feeling the breeze on your face and watching the sunset together.

It had been one of the best days of your life in a long time.

And yet it was so easy to lose the memory of those happy moments in the sea of dark ones.

As the war brewed on, the papers began reporting about some attack or the other on Muggles or Muggle-borns every day. There would be a disgusting image of the crime scene with a devastating headline highlighting the number of casualties.

And every day, the fear in your mind would grow deeper. Had Rabastan been behind the attack? Had Regulus? Bella, Rodolphus, Lucius?

The suspicion only took uglier turns as you couldn’t look at any of them without seeing the headlines of that day flash before your eyes.

You also lived with the constant fear that one fateful day, Sirius’ name would appear on the list of casualties.

How many times had you glanced at your husband over the paper while eating breakfast, wondering if he had been responsible for the attack in Surrey or Devon or some such place? How many times had you looked at Regulus and wanted to just ask him what he was up to but refrained for ignorance was bliss and you didn’t know if you’d be able to handle the answer?

Rabastan would disappear for days on end and so would Regulus. They’d come back, looking a little bit wearier than before, a little more exhausted. You had stopped asking questions after realising it only resulted in loud, nasty fights.

Your mother had descended deep into the depths of paranoia, looking upon even her children with suspicion. She wouldn’t leave her room, wouldn’t open the curtains, curling up under the covers all day because she had begun to hate the sunlight.

And day by day, you grew more restless, trapped in the confines of Lestrange Manor.

Every day was the same.

You jerked awake, blinking blearily to clear your vision. There had been some sort of terrible racket outside and you could still hear the shuffling of footsteps. You glanced at the clock—half past two. Outside the window, the entire world was shrouded in the darkness of the night. It was eerily quiet for a moment, and then you heard hushed voices again.

Your finger was still trapped between the pages of the book you had been reading. With nothing to do, you had taken up the habit of reading again. The light in your room was still on. Most days you fell asleep while waiting for your husband to return from god knows where.

You slowly got out of bed, shivering when the cool air hit your body. Picking up and slinging a robe around your shoulders, you went out to investigate the source of the noise.

The light in one of the guest bedrooms was shining. You traipsed over, opening the door.

“What the hell?”

Regulus was sitting on the bed, Rabastan pressing a cloth to his side. Even from afar you could discern the red splotches on the cloth.

Their heads whipped up on seeing you.

“What happened?” You asked, brows furrowed and mouth agape as you watched them.

“Nothing, we were out,” Regulus mumbled, “Got into a fight.”

“A fight?” You reiterated in disbelief, “What kind of fight? Where have you two been all night?”

The answer was a hiss from Regulus when Rabastan moved the cloth.

“Move, move,” You tapped your husband’s shoulder, “I’ll do it. Get some dittany.”

Rabastan disappeared and reappeared within moments with a small vial of dittany which you poured drops of onto the wound. Regulus jerked up in pain, but then new skin started stretching over the wound and miraculously, it looked several days old.

His laboured breathing seemed to return to normal as the pain subsided.

“Sit here,” You instructed sternly, “I’ll get you some water.”

You brought a glass of water to Regulus who drank all of it graciously, looking so exhausted and tired. When had he grown so frail and gaunt? You hadn’t even noticed. His perpetually sharp cheekbones now seemed to be protruding out, his eyes were sunken in, surrounded by deep bags.

Things hadn’t been pleasant between you and Regulus for some time. You avoided him in order to not remind yourself of the fact that your brother was a death eater, and he was hardly ever home anyway.

Yet now, looking at him you felt nothing but pity and guilt at the way you hadn’t noticed what he was going through.

Selfish, the cynical voice in your head sounded, just like he’d once said.

You ran a hand through his messy curls, in what you hoped was a soothing gesture.

“You can sleep here,” You said softly, “Get some rest.”

Your eyes now fell upon your husband. And the initial rage which had been suppressed by the sorry state of your brother, now came back stronger.

“I need to talk to you,” You said through gritted teeth, “Come outside.”

“Where have you two been?” You snapped, closing the door behind you with a loud bang, “And I want the truth this time.”

Rabastan kept quiet for a moment, looking at you with regret marring his features.

“We were meeting in Alfriston for…” He finally said, “Well, for you know what. The Order found out and showed up there. We got into a fight and Regulus got hit by one of the Order members.”

His words chilled your blood. How many other encounters like this took place that you had no idea about?

“How many of you?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Four,” He answered with a sigh, “The both of us, Rodolphus and Rosier.”

“And how many of them?”

“Seven.”

“I thought you were going to protect Regulus.” You couldn’t help but feel betrayed, as though Rabastan had forgotten all about the promise he’d made to you.

“Which is why he’s here now, sitting in our house, rather than dead.” Rabastan snapped, frowning.

“So, protecting him is doing the bare minimum?” You asked, anger steadily climbing.

“You’re being unreasonable.” He scoffed in response.

“No, I am not!” He looked at you through wide eyes, shocked at your sudden outburst, “You made a promise to me!”

“And I have kept it all these months!” He yelled right back.

“Protecting him means not letting the curse even hit him,” You said, “You disappear for days, I have no clue as to where you are, or what you’re doing…do you know what that’s like? I am not going to be your fucking trophy wife, Rabastan. I’m not going to sit here and pick out fucking curtains and cutlery while pretending as if I’m not being lied to!”

“Where the fuck did being a trophy wife come from?” He let out a laugh of disbelief, “How did you jump from your brother to that?”

“It’s all fucking connected, are you thick?” You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to chuck something at him, “I have no idea where you disappear to, you never tell me anything. I’m terrified that one day all I’ll get is a letter telling me that you’re both dead. I can’t live like this!”

“Have you considered that the reason I don’t tell you anything, and neither does your brother, is because we’re both trying our best to keep you safe?”

“Safe? Keeping me out of the loop is keeping me safe?”

Unable to control your rage anymore you picked up one of the pillows on the bed, hurling it at him. He caught it deftly, throwing it to the ground.

“Are you barking mad?” He shouted, “You’re acting like a spoiled child!”

“Better a spoiled child than a pathological liar!”

Days and days of unresolved hurt and unanswered questions were coming tumbling out as pure, unadulterated rage. You were both breathing heavily and if looks could kill, you would both be six feet underground.

“What the fuck are you even doing, huh?” You asked, “How many Muggles have you killed this month? How much blood is on your hands?” Knowing full well that you were pushing his buttons, you continued your tirade, “I bet you tortured them till they begged to die, didn’t you? You fucking _disgust_ me, Rabastan.”

He stared at you, dumbfounded. For several moments, nothing could be heard except the chirping of crickets outside. The Manor, in all its desolating silence, engulfed the both of you. You vaguely registered tears blurring your vision, lip shaking with tremors. Your face scrunched up as you began to cry, head bowing.

Rabastan crossed the room in long strides, gripping the doorknob and wrenching the door open.

“Where are you going?” You asked, momentarily surprised.

“I’m not going to be patronised in my own house.” He seethed, pointing a threatening finger at you.

“It’s three in the morning, are you mad?”

“You know, being married to you is just the cherry on top of all my problems,” He scoffed, “Just because you refuse to deal with your…issues, like a bloody child, you think it’s okay to take your anger out on others. Grow the fuck up.”

“Go be with someone else then!” You snapped.

“Gladly!”

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the silence of the night. You stared at the tanned oak, shocked.

You dropped down on the bed, feeling it sink beneath your weight. Hot tears flowed down your face. You swallowed around the painful lump in your throat as your pressed your hand firmly against your mouth, trying to quieten your sobs.

The door opened again, much quieter, and for a moment you thought that maybe Rabastan hadn’t left after all. But Regulus stood there, looking very distressed.

You quickly wiped away the tears from your face in harsh, jerky motions.

“Why are you up? You’re gonna open up the wound again.” You furrowed your brows, but your voice lacked any of the sternness or even the underlying fondness when you scolded him for something or the other.

“What promise were you talking about?” He asked, sitting down next to you.

“Nothing, it’s idiotic,” You shook your head, forcing a smile onto your face, “Go to bed.”

“Don’t play dumb, it’s unflattering on you.”

You sighed deeply.

“Do you remember the night I found out about the Dark Mark?” You asked, and he nodded, looking away from you, “That night I went to Rabastan. And I asked him to protect you in whatever way he could.”

“I don’t need to be protected.” He argued; there was that pride so characteristic of Blacks.

“Maybe not,” You replied, “Maybe it was just for my sanity. Either way, it hasn’t done much good, so it was rather useless.”

Regulus didn’t say anything. Walking in on you crying your eyes out reminded him of the moments he’d walked in on his mother showing some kind of rare emotion. Like the time she had been staring wistfully at the family tapestry, her fingers tracing over the smudge where Sirius’ portrait had been. Suddenly aware of Regulus’ presence, she had snatched her hand back and instructed him to go back to his room in a stern voice. The change had been instantaneous, her entire demeanour morphing from a mother who regretted losing her child due to her own mistakes, to a powerful matriarch who would ruthlessly protect the honour and integrity of her family. The way you had wiped away your tears brought the memory to the forefront of Regulus’ mind.

“Does he hurt you? Physically, I mean?” Regulus asked rather bluntly.

You shook your head.

There were terrible arguments at times, but he’d never laid a hand on you. Somehow, even through the long absences and the vitriolic fights, it dawned on you that you had grown to care for him. Why else should the prospect of him being with another person make your chest hurt and tears gather in your eyes?

And maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t been forced into an untimely marriage accompanied by the threat of war and the knowledge of his sins, you would’ve found some semblance of happiness with him.

“I’m not made for this.” You said, more of an observation than a statement.

“Not made for what?”

“This,” You gestured aimlessly with your hands, “Marriage…domesticity. It frustrates me.”

“It’s like,” You continued, before he could say anything, “It’s like…I don’t even know how to express it, really. I don’t like being tied down. I’m not my own person anymore! What’s the point of sitting here in this big house and not doing anything?”

“You need to stay here because you can be protected here.” Regulus said softly.

“No,” You shook your head vehemently, “I’m not being protected here. That’s the male excuse for snatching away my autonomy.”

“It’s not that—”

“Look,” You sighed, “I don’t expect you to understand my feelings. But when Cissy told us she was pregnant—” That news had arrived a month ago, first child of the new generation had caused quite a bit of cheerful uproar in the face of the war, “Rabastan looked at me as if he was excited, or whatever, to have our own child some day and my heart _sank_.”

Regulus didn’t utter a word as he listened intently. He had always been a good listener, strangely perceptive.

“I don’t want this white picket fence bullshit,” You shook your head, throat constricting as fresh tears pooled in your eyes, “And I feel like less of a woman because of it. Because I’m supposed to want children and a family and wholesome shit like that, right?”

You felt your twin’s arm wrap around you, pulling you close. What would have been a source of comfort for you normally, now made you cry even more. It had been months since you’d had a chance to even sit down and talk to Regulus and you were confident that your relationship had been ruined. But sitting there, next to him, hope bloomed in your heart that maybe, given some time, you’d be able to repair the damage caused.

“I think mother had the same dilemma; you know?” He finally said, twisting strands of your hair around his finger.

“Meaning?” You questioned, perplexed.

“Think about it,” He explained, “If she really hates children so much, judging by the way we were treated and the fact that she was never fond of children in general, why didn’t she just stop after Sirius? I think she had children out of obligation and societal expectations. Otherwise, who would be the heir to the House of Black?”

Stunned was the only way to describe how you felt. Maybe you were your mother’s daughter after all.

“I don’t think she wanted children and a family or a white picket fence, as you said, either. It doesn’t excuse her behaviour towards us, but it does explain it. Her resentment towards us was a direct result of her being forced to do something she didn’t like.”

“I never thought about that.” You said softly.

“You’re not any less of a woman because what you want doesn’t align with the norm,” Regulus squeezed your arm, “And I never want you to forget that.”

“Do you really think he’s going to cheat on me?” You asked, knowing that Regulus had heard the screaming match between you and Rabastan. You felt stupid for asking that question, but your husband’s last words before he’d left were echoing uncomfortably loud in your head.

“I don’t think so,” He replied, “But if he steps out of line, I’ll break his nose a la Muggle.”

You snorted at that and your reaction made Regulus chuckle too. The crickets continued to chirp outside.

-

“Letter for you, ma’am!” Your house elf ran up to you on nimble feet, holding up an envelope. You took it from her with a mumbled thanks, opening the flap and extracting the hastily folded paper.

_Come to Grimmauld Place. Urgent._

_Walburga Black._

A tremor of anxiety ran through your body. Your mother never wrote letters to you, there was no need to. You visited her four times a week anyway. In fact, you had visited her more than usual this week since Regulus needed to go away for a few days.

“What’s wrong?” Rabastan asked, in a dry, clipped tone.

Things hadn’t exactly improved between the both of you since that terrible row and you now followed a principle of tolerance around each other. You would have replied in an equally disinterested tone had it not been for the sudden panic which the letter had ignited in you.

“It’s Mother,” You said softly, standing up, “She wants me to come to Grimmauld Place at once.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked, momentarily forgetting his annoyance.

You shook your head distractedly, running down to the fireplace downstairs to access the Floo Network. You stepped into it, clearly mentioned the name of your destination and disappeared in billowing green flames.

Moments later you stumbled out into the parlour of Grimmauld Place, coughing because of the smoke. The room was dark and cold, your mother refusing to open the curtains as of late.

Kreacher, your house elf, stood cowering in the corner, your mother seated in a chair a few paces away from him.

Where was Regulus? He had taken Kreacher with him on his travels so he must have returned too. Had he injured himself again?

“What happened?” You asked, “What’s wrong?”

Nobody answered you. Kreacher curled in on himself even more.

“Will someone answer me?” You demanded, “Where is Reggie?”

Your mother sat there, stone-faced. The house was suffocating in its silence. You were convinced that your idiot brother had injured himself. You had a good mind to make him stay with you and Rabastan so you could keep an eye on him because quite clearly, your mother wasn’t doing the job.

“Is there a reason I was called or are you being paranoid again?” You huffed, unamused.

“Your brother is dead.”

“What?” You laughed at the absurdity of her statement, not even fully hearing or understanding what she had said.

Silence followed. No characteristic screaming from your mother, no patronising words.

“What?” You asked again, sobering up, squinting at her.

“Kreacher could not save Master Regulus.” A low, pained voice said, as the house elf stepped further into the dark corner.

“Where is he?” You asked, hands shaking in panic, “Kreacher? Where did you leave him?”

“I cannot tell you, Miss,” He replied, “Master Regulus forbade it.”

“Forbade it? You tell me right now where he is, Kreacher, or I swear I’ll—”

“Master Regulus told Kreacher to never tell anyone.” He repeated again with a strange strength of conviction.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?”

This time Kreacher didn’t even bother to say anything. He buried his large head in his wiry hands and stood quietly in the corner.

“Mother,” You snapped, “Make him tell me! I’ll go get him right now, he’s probably injured or something and this idiot is making up stories.”

Your mother didn’t even lift her head.

“Merlin, hurry up!” You shouted, “I’ll go right now!”

“He won’t even tell me,” She finally said, “All he says is that he’s…gone.”

“I’m not—” You spluttered, trying to find the words, “He’s obviously lying! He was with Reggie! Kreacher, I will fucking hex you; you tell me right now!”

You watched, aghast, as your cold, unflinching mother, began to cry.

In two quick strides you crossed over to Kreacher, putting your wand beneath his chin and staring down at him.

“What are you doing?” Your mother shrieked, standing up.

“Shut up, Mother!” You screamed right back, stunning her into silence.

“Now, Kreacher,” You turned to face the rotten house elf, “Tell me where my brother is.”

He remained silent, eyes darting everywhere except your face.

“Kreacher!”

“Master Regulus said he was sorry.” Kreacher whispered.

“What?” You wondered if you had misheard.

“Master Regulus told me to tell you that he was sorry,” Kreacher said, “He told me to tell Master Sirius that he was sorry too.”

“What are you talking about?” You murmured, lowering your wand involuntarily, too preoccupied by the house elf’s words.

“He cried out for you, Miss,” For the first time ever, you noticed tears in Kreacher’s big eyes, “He cried out for you, and for Master Sirius too. He wanted you to save him—” A choked out sob escaped your mouth, “—He wanted you both, he screamed for you. Kreacher tried…” He trailed off, “Kreacher tried _so_ hard…but he could not save Master Regulus.”

Catatonic may have been the only way to describe you at the moment. You couldn’t even think, or comprehend, or feel, much less move and talk.

He had told you he was going away for a couple days. He said he was taking Kreacher with him. He said he would come back and actually get a haircut because you had been nagging him about it for months. Why would he say all those things if he wasn’t going to come back? He wouldn’t lie to you like that.

“Please tell me where he is, Kreacher.” You pleaded in a low whisper.

“I can’t, Miss,” Kreacher reiterated the same words, “It was Master Regulus’ last order. I cannot tell you anything.”

So, what now, you thought, was he really gone just like that? Disappeared somewhere?

Regulus had always been uncommonly kind to Kreacher and in return, Kreacher had pledged his unwavering loyalty to him. There was no way he would divulge Regulus’ whereabouts, or what had happened to him.

The low strains of your mother’s sobs reached your ear. Anger curled up in you again, as you whipped your head to gaze upon her frail, shaking form.

“This is all your fault,” You hissed, “And you _dare_ to cry now?”

She looked up at you, eyes red and lips pressed into a thin line.

“My fault?”

“He would have never joined them if it wasn’t for your pureblood mania! You killed him!”

“Have you lost your mind?” She screamed; fists clenched in anger.

“Yes!” You yelled, “Yes, I have! You killed your one remaining son.”

You felt unhinged, thrown off balance. Still too shell-shocked to really let go and cry, still too angry, furious, confused even.

People had left your life, they’d disappeared, and you hadn’t felt as hopeless as you ought to because you had Regulus. Because you had taken it for granted that no matter what happened, Regulus would stay.

Your childhood home now reeked of death, of all the pain that Regulus had been subject to, of everything that had finally killed him. A haunting realisation came over you that you didn’t even know what had actually killed him.

Where was his body?

“I hope you can live with the knowledge that you destroyed Regulus, Mother,” You said, “And I hope you know that I will _never_ forgive you for what you did to us.”

You stormed out of the house and for the first time, your mother didn’t screech after you, call you a brat or demand that you come back at once. It was freezing outside; the December chill had set in and you had forgotten to bring a coat in your haste.

You knew you should go back home, tell Rabastan what had happened, maybe ask if he could locate where Regulus had gone. But you stood outside Grimmauld Place, dressed in clothes not fit for winter, shivering yet unbothered.

Your hatred of the cold was only a dull throb compared to the sharp pain Regulus had left in your heart and mind. You mumbled a heating charm, feeling some sensation return to your freezing fingers and toes.

Irritated by the Muggles who stared at you, probably wondering how you weren’t shaking from the cold, you walked off in a random direction.

A sense of nostalgia hit you, you hadn’t been on one of these aimless walks for months.

So many questions.

Where had Regulus taken Kreacher? How had he died? Had he been in pain? Probably, you grimaced, otherwise why would he cry out for you and Sirius? Where was he? Where was his body? Why didn’t Kreacher bring him back? If he had been in trouble, why hadn’t he told you?

A gnawing thought rang through your head that maybe you hadn’t known your brother after all. That was quickly overtaken by the realisation that he was…gone. You would never look at his face again, never talk to him again, never hug him again. But how could he be gone so suddenly? You had spoken to him just three days ago, right before he left to go god knows where.

Why didn’t you ask him then? Why didn’t you ask him where he was going, what he was doing, why the hell did he need to bring Kreacher?

And somehow, that house elf had made it out alive, but your brother hadn’t? Your brother who was an expert duellist had succumbed to whatever danger he had gone to face but the bloody elf had returned?

But what devastated you most of all was that he’d forbidden Kreacher to tell you anything.

The sudden gruesome thought of having to bury an empty coffin shook your entire body with a violent sob. You looked around, the streets were empty, it must have been later than you thought.

The streetlight flickered above you and you had the sudden urge to visit Sirius. You knew where he lived, you’d just need to walk ten more minutes and you could go to him. He would understand, he was the only person who would understand…right?

Maybe not, you thought, shaking that thought out of your head. It had been years.

A cold drop of water fell on the tip of your nose, startling you. You looked up, only to be attacked by more water droplets. The rain progressed from a light drizzle to a steady downpour. You blinked vacantly, shivering again as the rain rendered your heating charm useless.

Not finding any Muggles in the vicinity, your apparated back to Lestrange Manor.

You walked in, trailing water all over the hardwood floor. The door of the parlour was half-closed. You pushed it open; the room was warm due to the raging fire in the fireplace.

Rabastan was sitting on one of the chairs with his head clutched in his hands. His head shot up on hearing you, face visibly relaxing as he sighed.

“I was so worried, where were you?” He asked softly, crossing over to you and closing the door behind you. You hummed in response, not even registering his words.

“I’m sorry, love.” He said, as you walked further towards the fire.

He knew then. The news must have reached the extended family too. Next thing you knew you would have to sit and plan the funeral. Decide a date, pick out flowers, choose a casket.

An empty casket.

The realisation seemed to finally catch up to you as you let out a ragged sob, face scrunching up as you began to cry, hands hanging limply by your side. Nothing would ever be the same again, nothing would ever matter again without Regulus. Your shoulders hunched over, head hanging down in shame and guilt that you couldn’t save him.

Arms wrapped around you, clasping around your waist. His chest pressed against your back and you felt him rest his forehead against the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” He said again, “I’m so sorry.”

“I fucked up so badly,” You sobbed, body bowing forward in spite being held by him, “I didn’t save him…”

“It’s not your fault,” Rabastan said, sternly, “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“He said I was selfish, you know?” You laughed cynically, flipping around wildly, sending drops of water flying from your hair, “And he was so fucking right.”

He watched you, silent, worried, and helpless.

“I don’t even know what happened to him,” You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know where he went, what he was doing…he was my one _last_ hope…”

Rabastan continued to look at you, corners of his lips downturned, not knowing what to do to soothe you, if there was anything at all. It reminded you of the first night you had ever spent together, when you had marched into his house, soaking from the rain and begged that he protect your brother. You had been so, so angry at him that day.

A year later, here you were again, in a similar situation. Soaked from the rain and shivering because of the cold, despite the raging fire. Heart broken to pieces, not because your brother had screamed at you but because he’d left altogether. And you did nothing.

“I outlived the one person I never wanted to outlive.” You muttered, a realisation that hadn’t struck until then.

Rabastan reached forward and pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around you. Under normal circumstances you would have shrugged him off after a while—never having received too much affection as a child, it unnerved you even as an adult. Yet now it felt as though you needed to be engulfed and held in order to just keep yourself together.

You fisted his shirt tightly, feeling the scratch of the fabric against your palms. You both took the high road and put your differences aside, if only to experience a moment of solace. If he felt your tears wet his shirt or the sobs which wracked your body, he didn’t say anything, holding you in silence. The pattering of the rain on the road and the crackling of the fire were interspersed with your shaky intakes of breath.

And you couldn’t help but wonder…were you no longer a sister because you’d lost your brother?

-

Christmas was spent in distaste.

It had been almost a month. In the beginning you couldn’t even get out of bed. You laid there quietly, shrouded in darkness, all the curtains drawn shut, rather like your mother. The days that Rabastan was home, you would feel his worried eyes on you. You also knew that he would turn his head away when he watched the little tremors of your body as you cried into your pillow.

The days after that, before the funeral, were marked by a sudden increase in your productivity. Adamant that your mother should have no role in Regulus’ funeral, you took the whole responsibility onto yourself. You did your best to ignore Rabastan’s concerned questions about whether you were okay.

Of course, you weren’t.

It felt like you’d never be remotely fine again.

You spent the days marking the end of the year near the Black mausoleum. The marble was freezing beneath your skin, as you sat on the steps, wrapped up in a thick coat. You never went there to talk to Regulus, or cry. You sat there quietly, creating beautiful floral wreaths with your wand, smoking cigarettes, watching the snow tumble to the ground and form a thick layer of white.

You were sitting there, with your head leaning against one of the pillars, cold fingers clasped tightly together when you heard the snapping of twigs and the tell-tale thump of someone walking through the snow.

Frowning, you tightened your hand around your wand. There were a few more footsteps and then a figure appeared through the trees, standing with their hands shoved deep inside their pockets. You furrowed, unable to recognise who it was…until they stepped closer.

“Sirius?”

There was snow in his hair, a black coat slung around his shoulders. You gaped, grip around your wand loosening.

“Hey.” He said softly, stopping a few paces away from you.

The instability which Regulus’ death had left in you, now flared up as anger and contempt. How could he even dare to show up, after _years_ , and say “hey”?

“What the fuck?” You asked, stepping closer to him.

He made a confused sound in the back of his throat, looking at you with wide eyes.

“How _dare_ you,” You hissed lowly, “Show up here now? How can you show your face after everything?”

“I wanted to see Reggie,” He mumbled, so unlike the confident man that your brother usual embodied, "One last time."

"See what?" You scoffed, “The empty casket?”

“What?”

“Do you want to see the empty fucking casket that I buried?”

“What do you mean?” Sirius’ voice shook, whether from the cold or repressed emotion, you would never know.

“We never found his body, you imbecile,” You said, “Besides, as if I’d let you see even the casket. You fucking abandoned us.”

“I didn’t abandon you; you know that.”

“I can’t even look at you,” You pushed him aside, leaving, “Goodbye.”

His hand darted out and grasping your wrist, pulling you back towards him. You yelped, slipping slightly on the snow, and landing right into a warm hug. His arms were tightly wound around your shoulders, holding you close. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“What the fuck, Sirius?” You shouted, wrenching yourself away from him and shoving his shoulder hard, though your body unconsciously craved the warmth that he provided.

He stumbled back, unfocused eyes blinking sluggishly in shock.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You asked, voice echoing through the empty woods. Enraged and much to your chagrin, also tearful, you stared at him, surprised by his sheer audacity.

“Don’t go,” He whispered, glassy eyes matching your own, “Please.”

You stared at him, feeling as though someone had wrung your heart out as if it was a rag. It felt too big for your ribcage, hammering away wildly.

His hair was still long, brushing against his neck. His face had grown thinner, probably a side effect of worrying about the war. It strangely resembled how gaunt Regulus’ face had become in those last months.

You wondered how he was seeing you. Was he noticing the impact of the war and everything else that had happened since he’d left on your face?

You stepped forward, hesitatingly. The snow was soft, sinking slightly underneath you. Sirius looked perturbed, as though he was uncertain whether you were approaching as a friend or a foe.

You heard the sharp intake of his breath as you threw your arms around him, pressing your face against his shoulder. His arms hung limp by his side for a few seconds, out of sheer surprise, but then they wrapped around you, tighter than yours, holding you close as if you’d change your mind again and push him away any second.

You hadn’t been here, in his arms, in so long. The relief associated with coming home was tinged with sadness—you knew very well that you’d have to leave equally as fast as you’d arrived.

You pulled away after what felt like eons, looking at each other warily. Then the corner of Sirius’ lips inched up and you couldn’t prevent the watery laugh which escaped you.

“What happened…to Reggie?” Sirius asked softly, as you both sat down on the steps of the mausoleum.

“I don’t know,” You shook your head, “He left with Kreacher, for a couple days…then Kreacher came back but Reggie…”

“Kreacher?” Sirius asked, confused, “And what did he say?”

“Wouldn’t open his mouth,” You murmured, “Said Regulus’ last order was that he should never talk about what happened.”

“Fucking Kreacher.” Sirius cursed under his breath.

“Yes well, Reggie was always much kinder to him than you or I.”

“He said that Reggie called out for us,” You continued, “Both of us.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what happened to him…but Kreacher said that he wanted us to save him, he told Kreacher to tell us that he was sorry.”

Sirius stared at you, jaw slack. His bottom lip trembled, making him look boyish and vulnerable. His grey eyes filled swiftly with tears. He was wringing his hands together, a nervous habit that adulthood hadn’t managed to take away from him. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, and then shut it.

“We failed him,” You said, “Both of us. Maybe it’s justifiable in your case, you hadn’t seen him in years, but for me to see him every other day and not notice anything…”

Sirius hung his head, resting his forehead on top of his hands.

“I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Neither will I.”

The woods were deadly quiet. The afternoon sun was bleak at best, providing hardly any warmth. It was absurd how things had turned out. Here you were, sitting next to your estranged brother, one you hadn’t had any connection to for years, near your other brother’s grave. You thought that now it would just be wiser to stop questioning the ways of the universe and the work of the Fates.

“You have to know,” Sirius suddenly said, “I never meant to abandon you or Reggie. I wanted to reconcile after Hogwarts but the war…anyway, things went south and it just didn’t happen. I’m sorry, I truly am.”

You looked at him, all righteous Gryffindor boy and wondered what his side of the war looked like. Were the casualties justified by the notion that they were the “good ones”?

“We went very different ways, didn’t we?” You asked, rhetorically. Sirius’ smile was bittersweet.

“When we saw each other a few months ago in Diagon Alley, why didn’t you talk to me?” He asked, shifting in his seat.

“Why didn’t you talk to _me_?”

“I was going to but then I saw Rabastan. Can’t have an Order member march up to a death eater,” Sirius said, and then realising how crass he had sounded, he quickly cleared his throat and asked, “Anyway, how is married life?”

“Fine.” You said slowly, the cold realisation that you were on opposite sides of the war seeping into your skin. You wondered if he ever talked about you to his friends in that same tone of contempt he had used for Rabastan, if he talked about you at all, that is.

“Nobody who has used “fine” as a response has ever actually meant it.” Sirius nudged you, an ironically playful gesture in terms of the serious conversation you were having.

“What do you want me to say?” You huffed, exasperated, “I’m eighteen with a massive rock on my finger, how happy can I be?”

You thrust up your hand in his face for emphasis.

“Woah,” He laughed, taking hold of your hand and turning it from side to side as the diamonds caught the light and sparkled like stars, “Don’t go swimming with those on, you’ll sink to the bottom!”

You chuckled, drawing your hand back in.

“But really,” Sirius asked, solemn, “How are things?”

“I don’t know, honestly,” You confessed, “Sometimes I think things are okay, but then everything crashes and burns.”

The uncertainty of your marriage was troubling, to say the least. Rabastan was kind one day and distant the next. He doted on you constantly the days right after Regulus’ death, yet now he hadn’t been home for two days straight. You never had any clue where he was. And him asking you not to worry wasn’t going to make you worry any less.

You had become all too familiar with the chill of paranoia that would creep up on you as you lay awake at night, catching you unaware, filling you with the worry that you would receive the news of your husband’s mysterious death, completely out of the blue, like your brother’s.

“And it doesn’t bother you?” Sirius asked, “Knowing what he is?”

“A death eater you mean?” You deadpanned, and Sirius cringed, “I didn’t have a _choice_ , Sirius. I never had your courage and neither did I have Reggie’s determination. I couldn’t revolt to everything boldly like you and I couldn’t bear everything quietly like Reg—” You chuckled, a low, sardonic, dead sound, “—So there I was, oscillating like a pendulum. Load of good that did me, clearly.”

Sirius kept quiet, looking shameful that he’d asked the question in that manner.

“Of course, it bothers me,” You said, “He confuses me. He’s kind, at least to me, but then I read about these attacks in the paper and obviously he’s involved in some of them. I can’t understand who he is…is he the man who I go to sleep beside, or is he the man who tortures Muggles?”

“You could come with me,” Sirius perked up, “You can come and live with me, I’d protect you.”

You blinked at him, wondering if he was joking. The naivety in his tone made your heart bleed. How lovely it must be to still believe that there was a way out of this mess.

“You know I can’t,” You tried to smile, “If I decide to leave, I’m going to put a lot of people in danger. If anyone even found out about us sitting here and talking right now, we’d both be killed without any mercy.”

“You deserve better than this,” Sirius insisted, “I would protect you; you deserve to be happy. You’re not in love with him, what’s the bloody point of staying?”

“Know a lot about love, do you?” You teased, “There’s no point bothering with me. Tell me about you.”

“There’s nothing to say.” He mumbled, but the smile on his face surprised you. It wasn’t one of his characteristic lopsided smirks but a genuine, radiant smile.

“Yes, there is,” You said, amused, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

He muttered something indistinctly and you visibly saw his cheeks redden. Your brother, Sirius Black, player extraordinaire, _blushing_ , was a sight you had never imagined you would see.

“What was that?” You asked, nudging him.

“I said it’s not a lady.”

You gaped at him; surprise very evident on your face.

He looked up at you, looking hesitant and nervous, as if he expected you to react badly. You understood why, your parents were racist so why the hell would they not be homophobic either?

“Who is he?” You asked, eager to know who had turned your brother into a hopeless romantic.

In the abyss of your mind you realised how normal conversing with Sirius felt. There were far more important things to discuss—the war, the implications of being on different sides. There was still anger in you, you wanted to ask him why he’d never made the effort to reach out, why he was here now that Regulus was gone.

Yet it was so much easier to talk about trivial things. The elephant in the room was better left undiscussed lest it led to even more misunderstandings and arguments.

“Remus.” Sirius said, looking very shy and in love.

“Lupin?”

“What other Remus do I know?” Sirius asked, rolling his eyes.

“This is great, Sirius.” You smiled, feeling his contagious joy rub off on you.

“You…don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind?” You swatted at his arm lightly, “It doesn’t matter to me whether you’re with a man or a woman, as long as you’re happy.”

He smiled, the nervous energy melting away from his body.

“How did you two get together? It wasn’t from Hogwarts, was it?”

“No,” Sirius shook his head, “But I knew I liked him by sixth year. Spent a lot of time in denial, being gay _and_ being in love with your best friend is terrifying. After we left, we all joined the Order. I got badly injured on one mission—” Sirius had this far-off look in his eyes, that one often did when one was reminiscing about the past, “—And I was lying there, and Remus was sitting right next to me, James was there too…and they kept lecturing me about being reckless. After James left, everything was quiet, and I’d almost fallen asleep when I realised that Moony was crying. And I was so bloody shocked.”

You listened with rapt attention, not even realising that your surroundings were growing dark.

“I was staring at him, not knowing what to do and then he started scolding me—while crying, mind you—telling me that I could have died and I just thought…if I do die, I can’t go without ever telling him how much I love him,” Sirius smiled, looking at the grin stretched across your lips, “So I did. I literally blurted out, “Moony, I _like_ like you.” You should have seen the way he shut up immediately, it was so funny.”

“That’s your idea of romance?” You laughed, elbowing him in the ribs, “Sirius Black, king of smooth talking, asked his boyfriend out by saying that he _likes_ likes him.”

“Shut up,” Sirius whined, shoving you right back, “It worked, okay?”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” You said, after the laughter had died down, “You deserve to be with someone who loves you.”

“So do you.” Sirius replied, sobering up.

You bit the inside of your lip, looking away. What in the world could you say to that? How would you explain to Sirius that “walking away” was impossible for you?

“All four of you are still friends, then?” You asked, changing the subject, “Still causing trouble?”

“Of course,” Sirius replied, perking up at the mention of his friends, “Lily is pregnant, by the way! I have dibs on godfather, obviously.”

“Oh, wow,” You murmured, surprised, “That’s…great.”

“You don’t sound very happy.”

“No, I am,” You shook your head, “I’m just surprised. It genuinely feels like we were in school months ago. And now people are getting married, having children…Cissy’s pregnant too.”

The realisation was truly baffling to you. And you realise it’s been almost two years since Sirius left school. Almost one year since you left.

“Do you miss James?” Sirius blurted out, grey eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“What?”

“You know,” Sirius shrugged, “You two went out and stuff…”

“For six months in fifth year, Sirius,” You chuckled, “I still think he’s a good person but romantically? No.”

Sirius nodded.

“Besides, even back then, I knew we would never end up together,” You said, “We really were too different and he always had eyes for Lily, anyway.”

Sirius fished around in his coat pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You were about to tease him for using a Muggle lighter when he could use his wand to light it before you saw that it was engraved with his name. A gift, then.

“Can I?” You gestured towards the pack.

Sirius frowned, extending it towards you. You took one out, propping it between your lips and leaning in as he lit yours. You breathed in deeply, tasting the acrid smoke and watching it curl into the air before disappearing.

“When did you start smoking?” He asked, looking very surprised.

“Been a few years,” You said, “Reggie will kick both our arses from beyond the grave, he hated it.”

The words, meant to be humorous, came out sounding rather sad. If it meant smoking a thousand cigarettes just to have an interaction with your brother again, you would do it. But those things were fiction. You and Reggie had seen the last of each other.

“He was the best of us,” You said, tapping the ash to the ground, “Truly.”

“Yes, he was.” Sirius said, leaning against the pillar, morose, his voice sounding eerily similar to how it did in your dreams, far-off and soft.

You smoked in silence, watching the grey smoke drift up and melt into the gloomy sky. The last rays of the sun were disappearing beyond the trees. The chill had intensified with the setting of the sun. The evening felt like the end of too many things. The day’s end, the year’s end, the decade’s end. In the distance you heard the bells of the nearby church tolling faintly.

“Time to go now.” You murmured, standing up and stubbing out the cigarette, though the snow did that pretty well on its own.

Sirius stood up too, throwing his cigarette away and wiping his hands against his trousers.

You smiled at each other. He reached forward, pulling you into a hug. It was different from the initial, spirited collision you both had had. This was soft, affectionate, mature almost.

“I love you.” He murmured, rubbing your back in long strokes.

“I love you too.” You replied, surprised by how easily the words came to you, considering the anger you had pushed inside you for the last few years. It felt natural to be here, hugging Sirius. In the privacy of your mind, you imagined that Regulus was watching the both of you, happy about your reconciliation.

“You’re still my sister, no matter what happens,” He said fiercely, “And if you need help, I’ll always be there.”

You nodded against his shoulder, though you didn’t really believe it. Not because you didn’t trust Sirius but because circumstances rarely worked in either of your favours.

You pulled away, willing away the tears that were threatening to burst forth any moment.

“See you.” Sirius smiled, squeezing your hand one last time before letting it fall to your side.

“You too,” You nodded, “Be safe.”

And as you walked down the London streets, forgoing apparating in the hopes that the cold air would clear your head, you had an instinctive feeling that you wouldn’t really see Sirius again. Some higher power had wrenched you both away from your worlds and brought you together for one afternoon so you could pay your respects to Regulus, together, like he would have wanted, and have one last conversation.

Now you were both supposed to go back to your own lives, to continue on as you had been.

One intersection in the road was all you and Sirius could afford.


	5. 1980-1981

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walburga Black is killed by her own mind, Draco is born, the Dark Lord is defeated by the Potters' son. But the merriment is halted abruptly as Sirius goes to Azkaban and only one heir remains on the chess board of 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black'.

**1980**

It took the combined efforts of Narcissa, Lucius and Rabastan to get you to start visiting your mother again. After Regulus’ death she had taken ill, due to her neglect of her own health. Madness ran in your family, everyone knew that.

She had confined herself to her bedroom, more so to her bed. The curtains would be drawn shut tightly, probably fixed in place with magic so that not even a ray of sunshine could enter the room. Being an old house, Grimmauld Place collected dust easily and when you had opened the curtains and let the sun in, you could see a million little specs of dust floating around.

Truth be told, your mother’s health had been deteriorating at a rapid pace for almost a year now. Your mother had always eaten quite little. As a child it hadn’t really sparked your attention but as you matured and noticed so many of your friends at school willingly starve themselves, you began to wonder if your mother had been doing the same. Throughout the years she had maintained that slender, petite figure, yet now, partnered with paranoia, it made her appear sickly and waifish.

Despite spending all day in bed, it was clear that she rarely slept. The bags under her eyes were far too prominent, making her angular face look almost frightening.

You noticed her hands shake as she picked up the tea cup from the bedside table, as though her limbs weren’t strong enough to bear the fine china anymore.

You didn’t want to go see her, not really. Regulus’ death weighed far too heavy on your mind and heart and you knew that had she not been so radical in her beliefs, Regulus might have never died and Sirius might have never left. You would never have had to marry.

You went eventually, because there was no one else to take care of her. The proud woman that she was, she still wouldn’t let you help her, and to be honest, you weren’t feeling very inclined to do so either.

She would sit up against the headboard, quietly drink her tea, look at the birch tree outside and not say a word to you.

Kreacher would come in, cowering, more afraid of you now than he had been before, and ask your mother if she wanted something to eat. And every time, she would turn him away.

“What are you getting out of starving yourself?” You muttered, wiping off a layer of dust from the bedside table.

No response came from her. She stared vacantly at the window.

“Are you just not going to talk?” You asked, annoyed, “All I do is come here every week and sit in silence.”

You expected that she would just ignore your words again, but then she spoke.

“I never asked you to come,” She replied, voice hoarse from disuse, “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, well, the feeling is mutual.” You snapped back.

“All you’ve ever done your entire life is complain.” She said, still not turning to look at you.

“Well, it’s not been a very fulfilling life, has it?” You asked, anger mounting, “You’ve made quite sure of that.”

“None of us have had a fulfilling life,” Finally she turned her head, glaring at you, and in the darkness, she appeared rather monstrous, “Do you think I wanted this? Any of this?”

You glared right back at her, never one to back down. Maybe in the past you wouldn’t have had such courage but time away from her and the grudge you harboured against her, made you unduly brave.

“I never wanted a blood traitor son, nor did I ever want anything bad to happen to Regulus! We were perfect,” She blinked rather manically, “We were perfect! Our family, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, so prestigious, and now…” She trailed off, “Now, look at us.”

She turned her gaze to the window again, her hand shaking from nervous excitement.

“You know, Mother,” You said softly, “As a woman, sometimes I understand you. I can sympathise that maybe nobody ever asked you what _you_ wanted. That nobody ever gave you a choice. But as a daughter, and as a sister, you baffle me.”

She turned her head again, looking at you with dark, beady eyes, as if daring you to go on. But you weren’t afraid anymore. You didn’t live under her roof and you were no longer a child.

“If you were never given a choice, you should’ve done better for us,” You said, “You should’ve made sure that Sirius, or Regulus, or I, had a choice. You should have fought tooth and nail so that we could have our autonomy,” You got up from your chair, walking over to the window, the only source of light in the otherwise dark house, “The one son who rebelled, you cast him away. Your other son, he tried to conform so much that he—” You let out a mirthless, cynical chuckle, “—Well, he disappeared altogether. When I rebelled, you married me off. You pushed everyone away, Mother.”

You wiped away the dust on the window pane, watching how it turned your finger grey.

“You were always so cold, Mama,” The nickname slipped out involuntarily, “So…untouchable. Mothers aren’t supposed to be like that. Your pureblood mania was more precious to you than the lives of your children. You destroyed us in the name of family honour. You destroyed all three of us…and what did you gain?” You felt so calm that you scared yourself; you didn’t feel anymore fear, “An empty house…with an empty name.”

“You will never understand what it is like to be everyone’s puppet,” She replied, and you wondered if the only reason she wasn’t shouting her lungs out was because she didn’t have the strength anymore, “First, the property of my father, and then of my husband. I did what I had to do to survive, and to gain a position in this world that is so kind to men and exclusively unkind to women,” Her voice cracked, “This house isn’t empty…it’s filled with ghosts, I hear their voices…Sirius and Regulus, and they blame me, just like you, but they don’t understand. They will never understand…”

“Because you pushed everyone away!” You retorted, “All my life I thought that maybe one day, you would finally treat me well and maybe you would have a justification for how you behaved. Not only was that terribly naïve of me, but also—” You struggled to string your thoughts together, “—Also it doesn’t really matter. Because no matter what might have happened to you to turn you into the person you are today…it doesn’t excuse what you did.”

For a moment you thought that there had been a look of remorse on her face, a semblance of feeling sorry for her actions, but then it was overtaken by the stone-cold look of hatred that you were so accustomed to.

Walburga Black was never sorry for her actions.

“I would rather be pure of heart than pure of blood.” You murmured.

“Go,” Your mother said, looking away, “I’m tired.”

You sighed, having known full well that your words wouldn’t pierce her, but still disappointed. You lingered by the window for a few more seconds, watching your mother who was decidedly looking away from you. You left the room, closing the door behind you.

Walburga Black died in April of 1980, her weakened body and broken heart finally failing her. She was at a dangerously low weight when she died, practically skin and bones. But her mind was what killed her in the end. Her mind which made her hallucinate her dead children and husband, a myriad of nightmares which plagued her whether she was awake or sleeping.

And as you buried her you realised that you had worn your black mourning robes far too many times in the last half year.

A few months later, however, there was some good news.

Cissy and Lucius welcomed their son, Draco, on the 5th of June, 1980. As you held the tiny, sleeping child in your arms, you noticed the remarkable similarity with Lucius, from the tufts of platinum blonde hair, alabaster skin and grey eyes.

“He’s beautiful, Cissy,” You murmured, smiling at your cousin.

“Isn’t he?” She whispered, fondly stroking a thumb over his cheek.

“Cissy and I want you to be his godmother.” Lucius said, standing next to Narcissa’s chair.

You blinked up at him, surprised. Narcissa watched you with an eager smile on her face.

“Are you serious?” You asked, flabbergasted yet very pleased.

“There’s no one else we would rather choose to be Draco’s guardian,” Narcissa said, eyes fixed on her son, “You know, in the event that anything happens to us.”

You looked down at the child who shifted in your arms, stretching out an arm and turning, all while still being fast asleep. He looked so angelic and peaceful and the realisation hit you that years ago, you had been a child too, carefree and happy. Aunt Druella’s garden parties were now one of your saddest memories. It was so hard to pinpoint where everything had gone wrong.

Half the children who had played in that garden were now death eaters, some were dead and others still had lost their smiles and drifted so far away that bringing them back would be impossible.

None of you were born evil.

“So?” Cissy said, “You’ll accept?”

“Of course,” You grinned, “I’d be honoured.”

Narcissa smiled widely, holding her son’s tiny fist in her hand. Draco’s hand unconsciously curled around her finger, clasping it tightly.

Looking at Draco, you hoped that even as a child born during a war-ravaged time, he would have a better life than any of you had had. A happy, fulfilling life that he would be in control of. That he would never have to suffer through the pain and suffering that your generation had been cursed with.

**1981**

You sat outside Bartemius Crouch’s office, tapping your fingernails on the arm of your chair in impatience. The wall in front of you was lined with the portraits of past Ministry officials who stared back at you with varying levels of interest.

In the span of a week, things had escalated faster than you could perceive them.

The story went, that on the night of 31st October, the Dark Lord had gone to the Potter’s residence in Godric’s Hollow with the intent to kill their son, Harry. Why a child was such a thorn in his path you could not tell.

When the Auror department reached the site, the house had been blasted apart, James Potter lay dead on the stairs, Lily Potter’s body was found near the crib of her son, Voldemort had vanished into thin air, and the only living being left behind was Harry.

And as the rest of Britain lost themselves in revelry and celebrations, you sat in your bedroom and shed silent tears for the first, and perhaps _only_ person you had ever loved. You may have moved on, but James would always hold a special place in your heart. The initial anger that you had felt when he’d told you about Lily had melted away many years ago, and you only regarded him as a fond memory of simpler times.

Lily.

Lily who had allegedly sacrificed herself in order to protect her child. In that moment it didn’t matter that you had never really known her, and had even disliked her for a brief few months as a teenager. In that moment she was a mother who died aged 21, a mother who had dreamt of living out her life with the love of her life and the son who she adored with all her heart.

And what of Harry? While the entire Wizarding World was out celebrating their messiah, had anybody actually thought about what would happen to the orphaned child?

Hot tears fell onto your pillow, dampening it.

You thought of Sirius, who would go mad with grief at the loss of his best friend. For one crazy moment, you thought you should just go visit him, with a bit of searching you’d surely find his place. It didn’t matter that it was two in the morning, you just wanted to go see him.

But then your eyes flitted towards the other side of your bed and you decided against it. The other side of the bed, with its sheets neatly tucked in and the pillows immaculately arranged because no one had slept there for two days.

You didn’t even know where Rabastan was. With the fall of the Dark Lord, the world had been thrown into equal parts joy and chaos. Your husband’s actions wouldn’t go unpunished. You knew that. You had long learned that the instinct in your heart which told you that things were going to go even further south was rarely wrong.

Before succumbing to a fitful sleep, you told yourself that you would go see Sirius the next day. If everything was going to fall apart anyway, you were going to be brave just this once.

The universe works in ways beyond human comprehension. So, of course, that never happened.

The next day, twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew were killed when a blasting curse was set off by Sirius. Peter and Sirius had met on a crowded London street where Peter accused Sirius of betraying the Potters. Sirius had then allegedly set off a blasting curse which killed the Muggles and Pettigrew. All that was left of the latter was his finger. And Sirius was seen laughing maniacally.

Or that was the story that was printed in the Prophet. You knew it couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. There had to be another explanation for it all, because Sirius Black would rather _die_ than betray James Potter and everyone knew this.

The Ministry, which had been slandered right and left during Voldemort’s rise, and rightfully so, were eager to put as many people as they could in Azkaban, in order to regain the faith of people and prove their efficiency. Millicent Bagnold, Minister for Magic, announced in a press conference that Sirius Black had been the one who had betrayed the Potters and indirectly caused their death and killed the twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew when confronted by the latter. For his crimes, he had been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban.

Your brother spent his 22nd birthday in a cold prison cell.

Even the chronology of the events sounded fake. Like it was some fucked up, imaginary story which a child had spouted. And then for the trial to be over and done with in _three_ days? It was impossible for something to not be off. The Ministry needed a scapegoat, and your brother had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But that hadn’t been the end.

Less than two days after that, four death eaters tortured Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom to the point of insanity. You didn’t have to look through the entire article in the Prophet to know who the death eaters were. Rabastan’s empty chair and the sinking feeling in your heart said enough.

You hated yourself for the silent tears that you shed as you pressed your face into his pillow that night, clutching it tightly. You shouldn’t feel any sadness, he had done terrible things and yet your heart felt like it was shattering. The prospect of never seeing him again, never hearing him call you _belladonna_ , weighed too heavy.

From what you understood, the trial had been tense. Leader of the Council of Magical Law, Bartemius Crouch Senior’s own son had been one of the death eaters who had used the Cruciatus curse on the Longbottoms.

You hadn’t gone to the trial. You couldn’t bear to. You never doubted that Rabastan was capable of evil, but the explicit account of the torture that the Longbottoms had endured made your stomach turn.

Needless to say, they were sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban.

Which brought you back to today. Sitting outside Bartemius Crouch’s office, in the hopes that you could negotiate something better for your brother.

“Mr. Crouch is ready to see you.” His secretary said, looking at you warily. The contempt in her eyes was loosely veiled and you didn’t blame her. Practically all your family was linked to the dark side. If you were in her shoes you would have also regarded yourself with suspicion.

“Madame Lestrange.” The man behind the giant desk stood up in greeting.

Your last name was now another heavy burden you had to bear, knowing that it was associated with murderers.

You had met Bartemius Crouch once or twice at family parties. Extremely proud about his position at the Ministry, people thought he would succeed Bagnold as Minister for Magic. Though after his son, Barty, who was fast friends with Rabastan and Bella, was exposed to be a loyal supporter of the Dark Lord, those prospects seemed bleak.

“Mr. Crouch.” You said, taking a seat in front of him. The lines on his forehead were ridged deep, a clear sign that the discovery of his son’s crimes hadn’t been easy for him.

“How can I help you?”

“My brother,” You said, without beating round the bush, “Sirius Black. I’m here to talk about him.”

Crouch’s face darkened, any cordiality he had shown towards you disappearing.

“What about him?”

“I want him to have a re-trial.”

“Are you very used to walking into offices of Ministry officials and demanding treasonous things?” He asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Only when I know that those Ministry officials have something to hide.” You replied coldly, looking him dead in the eye.

“What are you implying?” He frowned.

“It is my understanding that the Council of Magical Law investigates murders for anywhere between two weeks to two months,” You said, “Rounding up witnesses, informing the Wizengamot…these things take time. So how the hell did you manage to deliver my brother’s verdict in three days?”

Crouch seemed unsettled by your question. Good, you thought, good that your words were rattling his conscience.

“Several witnesses saw him,” He finally said, “The incident happened on a crowded street corner. Pettigrew’s finger was left behind. What other evidence do we need?”

“Did you give him a chance to defend himself? Did you check his wand?”

“The wand was blasted apart in the impact,” He said impatiently, “Now, I have other appointments, so if—” He got up from his seat.

“Sit _down_ , Mr. Crouch,” You commanded, glaring at him till he shakily dropped into his seat again, “I’m not done. Put him on veritaserum! Did you do that? You know what I think, Mr. Crouch? I think the Ministry is trying to cover up their inefficiency with rapid trials, with no regard for justice or—”

“Your brother refused veritaserum.”

You blinked at him, surprised.

“Why would an innocent person refuse veritaserum, Madame Lestrange?” Crouch asked, resting his elbows on the table.

You didn’t have an answer to that question. In fact, you were asking the same question yourself. Why would he refuse veritaserum, the one thing which could prove his innocence beyond doubt?

What you didn’t know was that Sirius, always the noble, righteous bastard, had refused to take the truth serum in the fear that under its influence he might have revealed that Remus was a werewolf to the Ministry, or the fact that he was an unregistered Animagus.

Truth be told, you hadn’t even stopped to think about what Remus might have been going through. Losing all his friends and then seeing his boyfriend be accused of their deaths and locked away in Azkaban.

“It is the expert opinion of the Wizengamot that Sirius Black was the one who had betrayed the Potters and revealed their location to the Dark Lord, and he was the one who had fired the blasting curse and killed the twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew,” Crouch said rather plainly, “So, I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Sirius ran away from home at the age of _sixteen_ ,” You argued, “Because he did not agree with the classist views that my parents held about pureblood supremacy. He went to James Potter’s house and spent the rest of his teenage life there. And as much as it pains me to say this, and believe me it does, Sirius loved James more than he ever loved me and I’m his sister by blood. Sirius would have _never_ betrayed James. Why would the man who hated pureblood supremacy so much, join the very people who propagated it?”

Crouch peered at you through beady eyes. The portraits behind him seemed to be just as interested in your conversation as they too gazed upon you with interest.

“War and desperation change people,” Crouch said finally, “I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Crouch,” You were feeling pretty desperate yourself now, “My husband is also in Azkaban. Don’t you think there’s a reason why I’m only asking you to give Sirius a re-trial and not Rabastan? I _know_ my brother, he’s innocent!”

“I think you should leave now, Madame Lestrange.”

The cold, curt reply stumped you. He looked at you stonily, clearly indicating that your conversation was over.

“It was a miscalculation on my part coming here,” You said, feeling spite bubble up inside you, “How could I have expected kindness from the man who sentenced his own son to Azkaban?”

You had one last satisfaction of seeing his face turn pale, jaw slack in shock. And as you walked out, you realised that you were leaving the last bit of your hope behind in Bartemius Crouch’s office.

-

Regulus’ room had been left untouched after his death. It seemed as if while the rest of the world had moved on, Grimmauld Place was stuck in time, holding stories and ghosts that it could not expel no matter how hard it tried.

You sat on the chair by his desk, looking at the books piled high on top of it. It would have been easy to imagine that maybe Regulus had just gone out and would be back any moment now, if it weren’t for the thick layer of dust on all his possessions, which screamed that he’d never come back.

His broom was propped up beside his cupboard, mangled in cobwebs. The last time he had ridden it was in sixth year, almost four years ago. He resigned as Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team in year seven, after he got the Dark Mark. You opened the cupboard, running your fingers over the piles of clothes neatly stacked on the shelves. His Slytherin tie hung on the side. You felt the ridges of the silver and green stripes between your fingers, smiling forlornly.

The house was quiet. You had come back only once or twice after your mother’s death. Except Kreacher, who had slinked away to the kitchen soon after you had arrived, there wasn’t another soul in the house.

You went back to Regulus’ desk, pulling open one of the drawers. His spare quills and an ink bottle were stashed away inside. You flicked through the few pieces of parchment, until you found a photograph fitted neatly between two pieces of paper.

It was yellowing on the edges, the colour faded. A younger version of Sirius, Regulus and yourself smiled back at you, waving at the camera. You and Regulus couldn’t have been older than five, and Sirius was barely seven.

You turned it over.

 _“Druella’s Garden Party, 1966”_ it said on the back in your mother’s winding cursive.

You took one last longing look at the smiling faces before carefully putting it back between the sheets of parchment and closing the drawer.

You left Regulus’ room and walked down to the end of the aisle to what had once been Sirius’ room. It was threadbare now. Your mother had burnt some of his possessions after he ran away. All that was left now was the antique furniture, which formed an interesting juxtaposition with the posters that Sirius had put up on the wall of scantily clad Muggle women and motorcycles. He had done a commendable job sticking it to the wall because not even your mother’s unbridled wrath could detach them.

A faded Gryffindor banner hung from the wall, a sign of defiance against your parents. The floor was strewn with Muggle magazines, the ones which your mother hadn’t been able to get to. You opened his cupboard, releasing more dust into the room. It was mostly empty, barring a few shirts and a t-shirt of the Muggle band that Sirius loved so much. You ran your hand over the black cotton which had the word “AC/DC” emblazoned across the chest in peeling yellow letters. You folded it up neatly, putting it back and closing the doors of the cupboard.

You took one last look around the room before walking out and closing the door. You stared at the brass nameplate on his door, running your hand over the engravings of his name, wiping off the dust in the process. You pressed your wand to the doorknob, muttering a sealing spell under your breath before walking over to Regulus’ door and doing the same.

Your own room was also mostly empty now, your possessions now at the Lestrange Manor. You didn’t bother entering, standing near the doorframe, thinking about how many hours you had spent curled up in your bed when your parents had been screaming downstairs, your pillow pressed over your ear. That desk, where you had written the letter to James after Sirius had ran away. You quietly shut the door, not bothering with a sealing charm.

You wanted your brothers’ rooms to remain untouched. It was heart-breaking, knowing that they would never return, that they would never sleep in their beds. But it was far more saddening to think that their things could be touched, ruining the sanctity of their memory.

You went downstairs, wandering around for a bit before finally finding yourself in front of the family tapestry, a cigarette dangling from your lips. _Toujours Pur_ , it said on top.

_Always pure._

Really, it was a sad, pathetic thing. If anything, the blasted off portraits proved that the Black family wasn’t always pure. The portrait of your great-great uncle Phineas was blasted off, and then a few generations below, your Uncle Alphard, Andromeda, and finally, Sirius.

An unsettling realisation occurred to you as you studied the family tree. Bellatrix was in Azkaban, Andromeda had been disowned, so had Sirius, and Regulus was dead. Besides you, only Narcissa remained in your generation. But your father was older than your uncle, Cygnus, which made Narcissa ineligible for the position of the heir.

Which left you.

 _You_ were the last remaining heir of the House of Black.

A surprised huff left your mouth as you continued to stare at your portrait on the wall, not even noticing how the ash from your cigarette steadily dropped onto the hardwood floor.

Maybe this was where you had proved your Slytherin talent for self-preservation. By oscillating like a pendulum between rebelling and conforming, you had managed to survive. You hated that you had remained apolitical until it was too late, yet you couldn’t help but think that that was why both you and Narcissa had survived.

Sirius was a fighter, Regulus was a thinker, but you, be it a blessing or a curse, were a survivor.

Your portrait stared back at you, so cynical and untouchable. Over the years, life had chipped away at you, leaving scars both physical and emotional, yet nothing had happened to your portrait. For some reason, that did not sit well with you.

In your heart you knew that this was your last time in your childhood home. You would never come back again to this house which consumed dreams and stole peace. This house which spurred hatred and fed lies. This house which had taken everything from you, bit by bit, person by person.

Taking one last drag, you raised your trembling hand to the tapestry, stubbing out your cigarette against your portrait.


End file.
